Alex Rider: Rogue
by Agent Striker
Summary: Sequel to CAMERON MORGAN: ON THE RUN. Alex's in trouble this time, he's wanted by every covert Agency in the world. This time he's gonna Cammie & Co's help to get out of the mess he's gotten himself into...there's another road trip on the horizon!
1. Trouble In Paradise

**It's FINALLY here. Yup, the long awaited sequel to CAMERON MORGAN: ON THE RUN. It's Alex's turn to visit the States, and he's gonna need Cammie and Co. 's help to get out of the mess he's gotten himself into this time.**

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><p><span> Tijuana, Mexico<span>

Yesterday

**No Particular POV:**

The sounds of the pulsing music reached up through the thin floors of the Mexican Hotel. It was a hot and steamy night, not unusual for Mexico, but there was a brisk breeze blowing off the ocean. The parties, the stars, the smell of the salty sea; you're typical night in Tijuana.

What was abnormal however, was the occupant of room 240. He stood with his head pressed against the cool ties of his shower while the burning water ran down his tanned, muscular back. The red swirling around the shower drain before disappearing out of sight made him even more nauseous.

This was supposed to be simple favor. In and out, pick up the necklace and back home to London, all thrown in with a Mexican vacation, so what Tijuana wasn't Cancun, Mexico is Mexico. The exact words were 'Sun, Sand, and Chicks'.

He slowly turned around, turned off the shower, and moaned softly as he reached for the creamy white towel. He wrapped it around his waist, the grabbed another one and held it against his throbbing side. He stumbled out of the hot mist in the bathroom and into the cool room. He grabbed his phone off the nightstand and staggered out onto the balcony; suddenly the room was way to hot.

He had been running names and numbers through his head and he could only one person that could help him out of the mess he had gotten into now.

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><p><strong>Short, but that's how we do it. Just to draw ya into the story. Chapter two will be up as soon as I have a reviewer (or two or forty-two). <strong>

**So, review PLEASE!**

**~Striker **


	2. Tijuana and All It's Glory

**Well, hello world! I'm so glad y'all liked the last chapter! Thanks to all my readers and those awesome people who found it in their hearts to drop me a review:**

djrocks

Firebird

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><p><strong>Cammie's POV:<strong>

No matter where you go to school, high school graduation is a pretty big deal and Gallagher Academy for Young Women (Spy School, as you probably know) is no exception. We have the whole shebang, slightly tacky caps-and-gown combos, dangerously high heels, and an awesome after party (And that would be our final mission, not the real _party_).

And just like any other graduation, the morning after was nothing spectacular. I woke up the sound of my phone ringing louder than I ever remember setting it, at 5 AM, in case you were wondering. I stumbled out of bed, trying to ignore my throbbing head (I suddenly _don't _like champagne anymore.) and the fact that I could feel the drool laminated to the side of my face.

Purposely avoiding the mirror, I tripped over Macey's forever empty bed, and for a second I was totally blindsided. After this weekend, I'd be leaving this room, a place that had been mine since the sixth grade and _going to college_. And yes, although out educations are way better than any school anywhere could ever provide, Gallagher Girls go to college too.

But you're probably wondering about the phone, right? Well, if possible, the ringing was getting even louder and I plopped down on the floor to dump the contents of my bag on the floor, searching somewhat frantically for my cell phone. I swore if it was Liz calling to say good morning or a prank, somebody was gonna die.

When I found my phone, I didn't recognize the number on my caller id, so I fairly snarled my hello, "What?"

"Cammie?" It was just one word, but I knew who it was immediately.

I sucked in a deep breath, suddenly very awake, "Alex?"

It had been almost two years since I had last seen or heard from Alex Rider. We had met for the first time in London after an…encounter with the Circle of Cavan. After traveling almost completely around the world together, making friends and enemies, doing insane things, and almost dying several times, Alex and flown back to London while I was asleep in the infirmary, leaving just a note in his wake.

Alex hadn't said anything else, so I spoke again, "Alex, what's wrong? Are you okay?"

He didn't sound okay, he was sort of panting, and there was some insane party going on somewhere close to him. "I've been better, Cam."

"What's going on?" I demanded again.

"I need your help, Cammie. I've done something really stupid."

Steady, sensible, _smart, _Alex doing something stupid? Oh, boy. "What?"

He took a deep shuttering breath, "I can't tell you over the phone. I need you to come to me,"

"Where?" I said, already standing up and searching my half-packed room for a duffle bag.

"Tijuana."

"What? Why are you in Tijuana?" I asked, nearly dropping my phone as I tripped over my dress from last night.

He sighed, and I could picture him running his hands through this sandy blond hair, blue eyes squinted to see something beyond the horizon, "I can't explain it all to you now-"

"I'm gonna need something Alex, it's two thousands five hundred and fifty-two miles from here to Mexico-"

"Cammie please. I need help. I need _you._"

The desperation in his voice sealed it. I don't even know why I was being such a brat about the whole thing anyway; he risked his life for me on more than one occasion, "Alright Alex. I'll be on the next flight."

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><p>It was quite a feat, but I made it to the General Abelardo L. Rodríguez International <em>Airport in <em>Tijuana in exactly seven hours. The whole crossing-several-time-zones thing had totally thrown off my internal clock, but it was around nine AM I guessed.

I stepped out of the airport and into the searing heat of Tijuana, taking in the bustling city. As far as the eyes could see, people and cars milled around, filling the streets and the sidewalks. There was a thin layer of smog, just blocking the sun and making the heat nearly bearable.

I was dressed in a plain black tank top, denim shorts, and flip flops for maximum coolness, the temperature sense…although black tanks are pretty hot. But I digress; I was still sweating like a pig.

Sighing, I glanced around the airport for a free taxi, running my hands through my hair all the while. I hadn't had time for a shower, and the knots were driving my up the wall. There was no free taxi in sight, so I grabbed my bag and worked my way over to the shade. Digging for my hairbrush, I watched and listened, just like any good spy should.

_Brush, rip. _My hands moved mindless, one eye remained on my bag, and the other watching a little boy, maybe nine, picking pockets of the people coming out of the airport. The kid was slick…and he was coming my way.

"Hola señorita, my name is Miguel! Can I help you with your bag? It looks _very _heavy, sí?" his gap-toothed grin was highly adorable, but I didn't need some little urchin stealing my wallet at this point in time.

"No thanks," I said, bending over and sticking my hairbrush inside, "I see a cab, so I've got to go now," I called across the airport to an old driver who sat on the hood of his rusty car, "Taxi!"

Miguel looked at me for a long second, then promptly burst into tears. "But señorita, I just wanted to help, please don't yell at me!"

Now every single person outside of the airport was staring at me. And thinking that I like to make little kids cry. Plus, my cab was getting away. I sighed; this wasn't going to be an easy trip, was it?

"Miguel, if you stop crying right this second, I'll give you a dollar."

His tears started to dried up, "Five."

I rolled my eyes, digging a rumpled five out of my pocket. When it was in his hot little hand, the tears evaporated and so did he. I shoved my way through the crowd and dove into one of the unoccupied cabs. I had wasted enough time, I had to find Alex.

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><p>Taking a taxi was probably slower than walking; the congestion in Tijuana is actually <em>insane<em>. It's been awhile since I'd been to Mexico, but the cites never cease to amaze me.

Alex's hotel was right on the beach, a kind of low-income looking place with three rickety floors and a huge bar spilling out onto the sand. I couldn't help but wonder why MI6 had put him in such a shady place. It must be one of those underworld (possibly undercover) ops. But if that were the case, why would he blow his cover just to call me?

He had said he was in room 240, which from what I could tell would be at the back of the hotel facing the water. The spy in me was starting to take over and my instincts led me around the back through a very seedy looking alley and along the side of the building. I wanted to check out what was going on before I ran into something unsavory.

Hitching my duffle bag over my shoulder and across my back, I clamored up the dumpster that sat right at the end of balcony of the room that should be 240 (It was on the end of the row). Checking to see that no one was watching, I reached up and grabbed the bottom of the balcony.

Using the side of the building as footholds, I scrambled my way up and cautiously glanced into the room through the open sliding glass doors.

Nothing looked out of place…at first. There was a guy's t-shirt draped across the back of a cheap-o looking chair and a pair of tennis shoes sat on the table near the window. But the big, dark red stained bath towel in the center of the floor made me feel slightly sick to my stomach. Something was definitely off here.

I cautiously pulled my leg over the railing and dropped silently on to the terrace floor. Soundlessly, I set my bag on the ground and moved over to the door. I gently pulled it back and glanced around inside before actually going in.

Three steps in and I knew someone was behind me, but to late. I heard the whistling wind as something heavy was brought down towards the back of my head, but before I could do anything, the object made contact with my skull and everything faded to black.

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><p><strong>Tada! You like? It's a lot longer...Please review and tell me: sí or no!<strong>

**~S**


	3. The Rogue

**Hello chickets. How are you all? Par usual, I'm tired. Reviews make me happy! Thanks to my readers and reviewers:**

djrocks

xJayjaybenzox

Mythomagic-Champion

Firebird

**PS: This story is rather AU because Jack isn't dead and Alex is still in MI6. **

**PSS: Alex is eighteen, along with any of the Gallagher Girls that may or may not show up in this story. Therefore, it takes place AFTER the final Gallagher Girls book. The Circle has been dealt with, but I won't really get into all of that. **

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><p><strong>Alex's POV:<strong>

I winced as Cammie crumpled to the carpet, but there was nothing I could do. If I so much as breathed wrong, I would literally tumble down into the scene…that would not be good for either of us.

I watched the goon dig through her pocket and grunt something at his companion when all he found was eight dollars and twenty-nine cents.

"Nothing."

"He musta skipped out. We should report back to headquarters," the second goon said in a crisp accent, glancing at his watch.

They made one last sweep of the room then disappeared out the balcony, much like Cammie had entered just minutes earlier. I waited for the sound of their feet on the top of the dumpster, then counted backwards from one hundred in German before gently lowering down from the ceiling support beams where I had been balancing for the last hour.

I limped over to Cammie, moving slightly faster as a moan escaped her lips. I reached down to feel the lump on the back of her head when she grabbed my wrist, which I still don't know how she did considering she was lying flat on her face. However, in three seconds I was the one flat on my face and she was kneeing on my spine.

"What the heck is going on-" she paused, "Oh, Alex! It's you."

She quickly got off my back and helped me sit up. The gash in my side had started to bleed again and I must have grimaced because she cut me off before I could say anything, "What's wrong? Did I hurt you?"

I shook my head, "It wasn't you. I'll be fine, just give me a second."

Cammie rolled her eyes, "Yep, you're definitely okay. The blood dripping on the carpet means nothing."

I winced as she helped pull me to my feet, walking slowly with me over to the only standing piece of furniture in the room. The huge wooden bed was so heavy the two goons couldn't even make it budge. I was pretty sure the hotel was built around it. She's pushed me down unceremoniously and turned towards the bathroom without another word.

"I'm sorry," I called across the room.

"For what?" she asked, remerging from the bathroom with a fresh towel.

"For getting you into this mess, I should have never called you."

She rolled her pretty eyes and I was momentarily distracted. "-like I've never gotten into trouble without you." She pulled my t-shirt out of the way and grimaced at the large gash on my side.

"I have a first aid kit in my bad, let me go get it."

"Cammie, this is serious," I said, watching her walk towards the door. I _seriously_ needed to focus.

She grabbed the bag, digging through it as she walked back towards me. "Yeah, yeah. Isn't it always? What has MI6 gotten you into now?"

"That's the problem," I said, my eyes on her face gauging her reaction, "It's me they're after."

"Who, those goons? I kind of figured they weren't looking for the Queen."

"Those goons _are _MI6. They think I've gone rogue."

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><p>Cammie sat heavily on the bed beside me, "What?"<p>

"MI6 thinks I've gone rogue," I repeated.

"Why?" she asked, her intelligent honey brown eyes searching my face for answers.

I sighed, running my good hand through my hair, "It's a long story-"

"We've got as long as you need," she cut in. Giving herself a barely noticeable shake, she reached into the bag for a bottle of antiseptic.

I steeled myself against the sting of the antiseptic, focusing on the dirty Modernist-wanna-be attempt at art on the wall across from me. "Well, it all started about two months ago…

_Flashback_

_With my head bent against the unforgiving wind, I made my way down a busy London sidewalk in early April. The sky was a swirling mass of gray and it felt like rain. I honestly wasn't paying very close attention to the people around me; my mind wandering to warmer places, but when one of the apartment doors that led out onto the busy street burst open, barely missing hitting me in the face, my brain was wide awake._

"_Hey!" I shouted, jumping back, "Watch where you're going!"_

"_Sorry mate," the girl who had almost run me over said. She was wiry with short neon purple hair and stunning eyes that were nearly black. _

_She glanced back into the lobby, cursed loudly, and then took off at a run down the street. Before I could move or say anything, the door burst open again and a short, black haired guy rammed into me, sending us both crashing to the ground. _

_He leapt up, shouted down the sidewalk to the purple-haired girl who was now hopping into the back of a cab. He turned and extended his hand to me, "So sorry mate," he said with a smile, repeating what his friend had just said._

_It had started to pour by then and as I stood up I got my first good view, "It's okay-" I stopped and stared open-mouthed…it couldn't be- "Tom?"_

"_Alex?"_

_Tom Harris had been a chum of mine from school. The last time I had seen him had been during the _Scorpia _mission soon after I began working for MI6. _

_Tom's face had split into a huge grin, "Alex Rider. Who would have thought? Haven't seen you since I was fourteen!"_

_I too ginned, "It's great to see you too, Tom. How have you been?"_

_His face tightened a bit and his bright blue eyes seemed to freeze over, "Life's been good. Until Shelia."_

"_Purple hair?"_

_He nodded, "My girl-well, probably ex-girlfriend. Stole a bunch of my stuff when she left too, the little witch."_

_I nodded sympathetically, "Sucks."_

"_Don't I know it?" He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, making his black hair stick straight up. "I don't know about you, I'm starving. Wanna grab something and catch up...and dry off. There's a great little pizza place around the corner."_

_I glanced at my watch, "Pizza at eight AM…sounds good to me."_

_An old friendship was revitalized over a pepperoni and pineapple pizza. We hung out occasionally, mostly chasing skirts, playing video games, and partying. I got a rather odd voicemail message one morning about a month and a half after I'd first run into Tom. _

"_Hey, Alex my man! Sorry I haven't been in touch, but I've been trying to track down Shelia. Turns out she's in good ol'e México, trying to sell my stuff. And that's where I need your help. She swears she gonna sell my granny's necklace, it isn't worth much, but you know, sentimental value and all. I can't really leave London right now, work, but I was wondering if you could do something for me. I talked her into saving the necklace for me…musta caught her in a good mood, but I got to be there by the third of June. I've got a plane ticket and hotel reservations, all I need is a body. It'll be easy, pick up the necklace and get a long weekend in Tijuana. Sun, sand, and chicks, man! Whatda say?"_

_End Flashback_

"Who could say no to that?" I asked, throwing my hands up in the air, winching as Cammie poked at my side. "I knew it was to good to be true…but a week and a half later I was on a plane to here with a picture of the necklace and Shelia's address."

"It looks like somebody tried to cut you a new bellybutton. Care to explain that?" Cammie interjected.

"To put it simply, somebody didn't like me taking the necklace back," I said, pulling the necklace in question out of my back pocket, "that's another long story."

With a long, dull silver chain, the necklace would hang low on anyone wearing it. The pendent center was a remarkable green stone with an engraved snake wrapped around it. The snake's tongue darted out of its mouth, giving the whole piece a very sinister look. It seriously didn't look old enough for somebody's granny to have bought as a girl visiting the Middle East like the load of BS Tom had given me. I should have seen it sooner.

"Wow. That's…." Cammie pulled the necklace from my hand and intently examined it, flipping it over, pulling and prodding.

"Creepy?" I supplemented.

"No, well actually yes…but it reminds me of something I've seen before," She pulled her gaze away from the necklace and turned it on me, "So, how does any of this make MI6 think you went rogue?"

I pulled something else out of my pocket, this time a sheet of crumpled, well-worn paper. Handing it over I watched her face turn form confusion to horror to her emotionless mask all in less than a second.

The paper was an Interpol Notice for a suspected information broker, someone who sold top secret government information to the higher bidder. Until recently, _Der_ _Schwarz __Teufel, _the black Devil, had been faceless. But about two months ago, an agent got a clandestine picture of him along with one of MI6's youngest agents. It was suspected that this agent was selling secrets.

The agent was me.

The Black Devil was Tom.

Cammie's eyes got a little bigger. She gave my side one final poke then pulled my hand over to hold the towel. Zipping up her bag, she grabbed it and stood, "What do you need to take. It's not going to be long before somebody comes back here. And that 'little cut' is going to need some stiches."

"I can't go to a hospital, that would be way to easy to tack," I muttered, standing up and shoving my shoes on my feet and my remaining non-bloody clothes into my duffle bag.

Cammie nodded, pulling the bag from my hand and swinging it over her other shoulder, "I think I know someone who can help us."

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><p><strong>Muhahaha, cliffy, yes? Did you like my German? Was it right….I'm honestly HORRIBLE at foregin languages, no matter how hard I try, I just can't seem to pick it up. I am in French 1…and I suck so bad it's not even funny. You'd think that after 6 years of Spanish, I'd be fluent, right? WRONG!<strong>

**Oh, and Tom Harris isn't mine, he was in Scorpia…he and his adrenalin junky brother. **

**But I digress; please review! **

**Love, **

**Striker **


	4. Seven Hobos

**Hey y'all. I totally started to start this chapter…but it's still blank and today's the 19****th****. Oops. Thanks to my faithful reviewers:**

djrocks

Mind Wandering Girl

xJayjaybenzox

Mythomagic-Champion

Firebird

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><p><strong>Cammie's POV:<strong>

"This has to be majorly illegal," Alex muttered for the hundredth time.

"Yup."

Sneaking over the Mexico-United States Boarder is very illegal. But desperate times call for desperate measures, right? And _technically _(as in it may-or-may-not-stand-up-in-a-court-of-law-kind of technicality) we weren't bringing anything other than ourselves and two duffles of clothes…and one of us was an American to begin with.

**Note To Self: **Brush up on law skills, especially on crimes that I am likely to commit.

"I don't like this," he muttered again.

I shrugged, "I don't hear any better plans from you. And besides, a very good friend built this."

The 'this' in question was a false bottom on a flatbed truck. It was not very deep, but plenty big enough to fit several people in it if they were all laying on they backs. The truck was owned by some American shipping company which was affiliated with the Agency and my 'Uncle' Jerome had indeed built the hiding place. Jerome was one of my mom's friends I'd known all my life.

Alex muttered something as the truck bumped to a stop. I gently kicked his shin, "Shh, we're at the boarder now."

We listened as the truck was checked over, dogs and all, keeping our fingers crossed that everything would go according to plan.

It did. Two hours after I had first found Alex in his hotel, we were standing in the sunny city of San Diego. It actually only takes twenty or twenty-five minutes to get to San Diego but our little escapade was slightly more complicated than AM rush hour traffic.

"Canen and Twelfth," I muttered to myself, reading the street signs at the corner near the warehouse where Alex and I had been dropped off. "We need Canen and Twenty-First. This way," I pointed with gusto. Alex still wasn't looking very good, the faster we got to Doc Stone, the better.

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><p><strong>A Walk Through San Diego:<strong>

**Number of Streets Between Twelfth and Twenty-First: 9**

**Number of Minutes Walking SHOULD Have Taken: 9 **

**Number of Minutes Added For Having One Injured Party: 10 **

**Estimated Total Of Minutes: 19**

**Actual Number Of Minutes That Elapsed: 62**

**Number Of Times We Were Waylaid: 4**

**Number of Hobos: 7**

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><p>The early afternoon sun was warm, but not hot on our backs as we hiked through the streets of San Diego. Alex wasn't up to his usual speed, but he seemed to be holding out okay.<p>

I was on hyperactive watch, and yet I almost peed myself when a hand reached out and smacked my ankle, "What-"

"Good afternoon my fair lady, can I interest you in a fair rose? It matches your complexion so perfectly." The rose-seller in question was a grizzled, bearded hobo, all decked out in a ratty suit with a once-grand top hat and all. Next to him in a dirty white pail sat a dozen or so wilted pink roses.

I took a deep breath and smiled, relieved, "Um, sure. I'll take a rose."

I bent down to pick out one, but he swatted my hand away, "That'll be twelve dollars."

"Twelve dollars for _one _rose?"

The man shook his head sadly, "Inflation."

"I don't really need a rose then," I muttered, turning away, "Inflation my butt."

"Hey, how about I cut you a deal? Two for thirty!"

I grabbed Alex's arm and started off again, calling over my should, "Absolutely not!"

"Okay, here's my final offer, a dozen for fifty!"

"You're price is going _up_, go sabotage some tourist!"

I chose to ignore the grumbling behind us and Alex's laughter next to me. So he thought it was funny? If he wasn't injured already…

We were only at Seventeenth Street five minutes later but there seemed to be a traffic block…on the sidewalk. People were just standing all clumped together watching something. I may not be as vertically challenged as Liz, but I'm also nowhere near as tall as Alex or Zach. "Can you see what's going on?" I asked, turning towards Alex.

He wasn't standing behind me any more.

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><p><strong>Operative Report- San Diego<strong>

**By Cameron Morgan**

**One 'Alex Rider' contacted operative Morgan early on the morning of June fifteenth at her former residence, The Gallagher Academy for Exceptional Young Women. His location: Tijuana. His dilemma: unknown. **

**The Operative flew to Tijuana where MI6 agents who were looking for Rider promptly assaulted her. Together, The Operative and Rider fled the country in the false bottom of a truck bound for San Diego, undetected. **

**They arrived at Canen and Twelfth Street and proceeded to their destination, the medical practice of the esteemed Doctor José Stone, at Canen and Twenty-First Street. **

**They were waylaid by a flower-selling hobo at Fifteen Street and again by a blocked sidewalk at Seventeenth Street where The Operative lost Rider. After a few desperate minutes, she located him at the center of the roadblock.**

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><p>"What. Are. You. Doing?" I demanded in a low voice when I found Alex four minutes later.<p>

He ginned at me, "I think I'm protesting something," he snickered, waving his sign in my face.

I really wanted to know how he had gotten around me so quickly, but often in the spy world, one has to prioritize, "_What _are you protesting?"

He flipped the sign around and stared at if for a second, "I'm not exactly sure. My hieroglyphics are a little rusty."

I ripped the sign away from him and shoved it at some other innocent bystander. Grabbing his arm, I yanked him through the crowd, "That's Mongolian script and you're protesting the Mongolian grill on Locus and Thirty-First."

"Why are they protesting that?" Alex asked, glancing back.

I pulled his arm harder, "They use cow's milk in their kumis."

"So?"

"It's usually fermented mare's milk."

"That's nasty."

Before I could say anything else, another homeless looking person jumped out in front of me with an arm full of California Poppies, the official state flower. "Hello, hello! Would you like to buy some pretty flowers for your girlfriend?" the man addressed Alex with a poorly hidden wink.

I hate it when people think we're dating. "I'm not his girlfriend."

He shook his head, "Young people and their one-night stands these days."

That comment didn't even deserve a response. I walked firmly around the peddler and dragged Alex with me.

We managed to get almost all the way to Twenty-First; I could literally see the doctor's office, and then out of nowhere five men who looked like they hadn't washed in years were standing around us. They weren't your typical hobos though…they looked sort of like Buddhist Monks… shaved heads, togas, and all.

"The master has sent us to find you," one said.

"I think you've got us confused with someone else," I said, trying to step around them.

"The master is never wrong."

"He is now."

"The master is never wrong."

I was seriously starting to get creeped out and we didn't need to be kidnapped by some cult…time for the distraction tactic, "Hey, look! There's your master now!"

Their bald heads swiveled around, leaving us enough space to dash around them, across the street, and into Doc's waiting room.

Panting slightly, I jogged over to the reception desk, pulling my Agency id card (cleverly disguised as a library card) out of my back pocket. "Hello," I smiled at the receptionist, reading her nametag, "Amy. I found this on the front steps and I wanted to make sure the owner found it."

The code was pretty old, but she seemed to recognize it, "No one has lost a library card that I know of…why don't you hang on to it and I'll go see if the doctor is available."

I smiled and nodded, knowing we wouldn't have to wait long. Just five minutes later Amy was leading Alex and I down the hall towards the back exam room.

"Hello my darling! It has been awhile," Doc Stone was a dapper looking older man of about sixty years of age with bright, intelligent blue eyes and a mass of gray hair that looked a lot like Albert Einstein.

"Hello Doc," I said with a smile, "My friend here needs some of your excellent care."

Doc nodded, "Off the books I assume," he said, reaching for a pair of gloves.

"Very much so."

Muttering to himself, Doc nodded, "Alrighty. Go get yourself a cup of coffee and be back in half an hour. I'll have your friend all fixed up by then."

"Great, take good care of him," I said to Doc Stone. To Alex I said, "I'll go work on our way out of the city. Where do we want to go next?"

He didn't even have to think about it, "Seattle."

I cocked an eyebrow, but didn't ask. He'd explain later, and right now there were arrangements to be made.

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><p><strong>So, how's that? I'll hopefully update again sooner!<strong>

**~Striker **


	5. The Convict, Part 1

**Okay, so I know you all thought that I died…I AM SO SORRY! All my teachers have gone commando, last weekend I was working at an auction, and this weekend I took the SATs. And I broke my pinky toe…which is the least of my problems at the moment. Love to my reviewers:**

Mythomagic-Champion

djrocks

xJayjaybenzox

Painting Stories

Firebird

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><p><strong>Alex's POV:<strong>

Believe it or not, we decided to do a very normal thing to get to Seattle. We rented a car.

Well, of course we were using fake credentials, had no plans to return the car any time soon, and had five sets of new license plates in my bag, but over all it was pretty normal.

"Have a good trip!" the lady at the rental desk smiled and waved creepily. She was way to old to be hitting on me…or on Cammie as the case may be.

"Creeper," Cammie muttered under her breath, obviously sharing my opinion, "Let's get out of here."

We actually got an amazingly nice rental car, midnight blue Cadillac CTS Coupe, leather interiors, satellite navigation; the whole ball of wax. Brand spanking new too. Over all, a very plush ride. And not surprisingly, Cammie took the drivers seat, muttering something about me, Bex, and British drivers in general.

From the map I had gotten at the rental car office, I estimated the trip to be around one thousand two hundred sixty miles. In a car, that would take us a good twenty to twenty-one hours, not counting time for pit stops or anything else; peachy, just peachy.

I had called a friend of a friend when Cammie had left me with the doctor and he had some intel on the current location of my _great_ friend Tom Harris. I really didn't want that intel to expire. The first step of clearing my name was finding Harris and getting him to _explain_ why he had felt the need to randomly incriminate me as an accessory to his arms dealing. Personally, I don't think that Tom has the mental capabilities to be an international arms dealer, but again, that was just my personal option.

With my plan of action on my mind, I drifted off into an exhausted sleep, the sound of the radio playing softly and the cool brush of the air conditioning on my legs.

* * *

><p>I woke with a jerk at the sound of a horn blasting directly beside my right ear, "Where are we?"<p>

Cammie sat with one arm supporting head, elbow on the window ledge. Her hair was kinda pulled back, kinda not, and she looked pretty frazzled, "Stuck in traffic just outside of San Francisco."

I ran my fingers through my hair, "How long have I been sleeping?"

"Since we left San Diego, so about eight and a half hours."

"Want me to take a turn at driving?"

"Please," unbuckling her seat belt, she ruched around and flung herself into the meager backseat, "I seriously hate California drivers."

Slightly frightened that she just left the car and me to fend for ourselves, I hopped over to the drivers seat and strapped myself in. For eight o'clock on a Thursday night, the traffic was awfully heavy.

I glanced in the rear view mirror, opening my mouth to say something to Cammie, but she was already snoring. It always amazed me how many years exhausted sleep can shave off a person. Curled up with my jacket as a pillow, Cammie looked about ten.

I had been driving with the radio playing softly and Cammie asleep in the back for four or five hours, it was fast approaching one AM. I vaguely remembered passing into Oregon fifteen or twenty minutes earlier. Out of nowhere there was some sort of beeping noise cutting off the music. Nudging up the volume, I listened with interest:

"_This is an emergency broadcast for mile markers 12 through 50 of Interstate 5 North. Do not stop along the road at this time for any reason. A prison transport van has over turned and one prisoner is NOT accounted for. Convicted killer Joseph Hort, 32 is considered armed and dangerous. DO NOT APPROACH! Repeat, do not approach, Hort is considered armed and dangerous."_

There was more beeping then the music came back on. I glanced in the rear in the rearview mirror; Cammie was sitting up and rubbing her eyes. "Isn't that a pleasant thought, runaway killer?"

Mumbling something indecipherable, she clamored into the front seat and curled up against the window. Her breathing had just evened out again when there was a loud explosion from the rear of the car and the steering wheel jerked away from me. I managed to get over to the shoulder and stop the car without killing either of us thankfully. I was more than slightly rattled and took a deep breath, noting that the highway was suddenly very empty and the night was very dark.

"What a great time for a blow out," Cammie muttered, reaching for the door handle.

"Wait," I said, hitting the lock button, "Didn't you hear the news broadcast? We can't go out there, the murder could be lurking nearby."

She rolled her eyes and unlocked the door, "Please; like sitting here waiting for someone to come find us is any safer. He's probably long gone and it'll only take a sec, I can change a tire in eight minutes flat…no pun intended."

Not liking the sound of her idea, I grudgingly pulled the key out of the ignition, popped the trunk, and followed Cammie. She already had the car halfway jacked up and the spare out of the trunk by the time I got there. I stood in awe of her tire-changing skills. She really _was _fast.

Exactly eight point four minutes later we were slamming the trunk closed and heading to out respective sides of the car. "Do you wanna pull off in a bit to get some food? I'm starving."

"What, not afraid of the big bad killer anymore?" she teased.

"Nope, I've got you to protect me," I said, starting up the car as she clipped her seat belt, "Right?"

It was a completely different voice that answered though, a gravelly masculine one, "Wrong."

I slowly turned my head to look at Cammie. Our eyes met and we slowly looked over our shoulders into the back seat. A close shaven man wearing a dirty orange jumpsuit and waving a very large gun leered at me, "Drive."

So drive I did.

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><p><strong>Whoohoo, finished that in two hours! Winning! Review please!<strong>

**~Striker**


	6. The Convict, Part 2

**I AM NOT DEAD! I know you thought I was again, but I had a MASSIVE workload. Please have mercy, today was my last day of my freshmen year of high school and I took ****FIVE**** finals this week. Yes, so I spent all of last week studying…..but I got three A** **minuses and two As, so all that studying was worth it…..but just so y'all know, I started this chapter at 8:57 on May 7, 2012. **

**Love to my readers and reviewers (who I don't deserve at ALL):**

Mythomagic-Champion

djrocks

xJayjaybenzox

Firebird

cocky-gurl

shans97

* * *

><p><strong>Cammie's POV:<strong>

I wanted to kick myself. Mr. Solomon would be seriously disappointed in me if he ever found out about this...I should have had Alex stay in the car or lock the doors or I should have cleared the car before we both got in…

**Note to Self: **Find some way to 'accidently' leave this out of the official report.

But I digress. At this point, we had been traveling for about ten minutes in tense silence so think you could have probably cut it with a knife. Convicts don't make very good conversationalists.

I was the first one to break the uneasy silence, "So, is it safe to assume that you're Joseph Hort?"

He leered some more, "Well aren't we just a little smarty pants? What's your name, sugar?"

Crinkling up my nose, I did my best disgusted-Macey-impersonation, "It's certainly not Sugar."

He had his handful of my hair in a flash, yanking me closer to him, "I don't like my women to have attitude, I'd be very careful if I were you."

His breath reeked and I was seriously not liking his perv-esk leering anymore...not that I had ever liked it but it had taken on a totally new creepy factor. Time to actually turn this situation around.

I smiled sweetly, "Last time I checked, I wasn't anybody's 'woman'. And I plan to keep it that way."

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><p><strong>Covert Operations Report- Somewhere in Oregon<strong>

**By Cameron Morgan**

**Agent Cameron Morgan and rogue MI6 operative Alex Rider, hereafter known as 'The Operatives', had rented a car at a nondescript rental agency with the premise of driving to Seattle, Washington, United States of America. At this point in the mission, Operative Morgan was not privy to the reasoning behind the trip to Seattle as the road trip from San Diego, California, United States of America, it was all Operative Rider's idea. The trip had been going fairly well, Operative Morgan had been driving until the Operatives reached the San Francisco area. After switching drivers, all things went well until crossing the Oregon boarder. A convict had escaped from a prison transport and was running amuck along the Oregon Highway. Afterwards, a very unfortunate flat tire incident occurred, one which the operatives were forced to stop and rectify along the lonely, dangerous highway.**

**After changing the tire, the Operatives returned to their car, only to find this escaped convict, one Joseph Hort, **_**inside the car with them. **_**After being insulted, bullied, and threatened into driving, the Operatives decided to take things into their own hands. **

**With Operative Rider was behind the wheel, Operative Morgan operated a flawless Triginozkey Maneuver. After this Maneuver was executed, and the convict was hog tied in the back of the car, the Operatives had to come up with a way to dispose of him.**

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><p>"What was <em>that<em>?" Alex said, glancing over his should and swerving wildly across the deserted road.

I pushed a piece of hair off my sweaty forehead and smiled at the gagged-and-hog-tied Joseph Hort struggling around in the back seat, "The Triginozkey Maneuver."

Looking slightly more afraid of me, as he well should have, he glanced in the rearview, "So what do we do with him? It's not like we can take him to the police."

I thoughtfully tapped my chin, "Hmm, we could just toss him out the window."

There was a terrified squeal from the backseat. Apparently, Alex wasn't the only person now really afraid of me. "Or we could do something much more fun," I smiled devilishly. "Pull over here."

Complying Alex slowed the car as I glanced around, making sure there was no one else in sight. I popped open the door and pulled up the seat, "Alex, help me get him out of here."

Alex came around behind me and together we dragged Hort out onto the road beneath a sturdy looking tree of questionable origin. I kicked Hort not-so-gently in the arm, "Stay."

He whimpered.

Going around to the trunk, I popped it open and pulled out my bag. Digging around, I pulled out a length of study rope and more duct tape. I tossed the duct tape to Alex and set to work. Tossing the end of the rope over the nearest branch, I pulled down the other end and tied the patented Gallagher Knot around his ankles, with just a little bit of duct tape for extra support. "Help me hoist him up," I said to Alex.

Hort was heavy; it took five minutes of grunting and more sweating to get him high enough in the air so that he was swinging in the air like an oversized man-shaped pendulum. Lame metaphor, but accurate.

All the blood ran to his vile face and his eyes nearly bugged out of his face as Alex and I hopped back into the car, "See you in the later Hort, don't go anywhere! You can just hang around 'til the cops show."

I called the 911 operator to let the rest of the world know where we'd left that scum bag Hort, then Alex and I laughed our selves the rest of the way to Seattle.

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><p>The next morning's newspaper headline:<p>

_RUNAWAY CONVICT FOUND HANGING FROM A TREE, UNKNOWN HIGHWAY RENEGADES SAVE THE DAY! _

The press never ceases to amaze me.

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><p><strong>There you go! Hopefully there will be another chapter on Monday, tomorrow I am going to a concert! <strong>

**Love always, **

**Agent Striker**


	7. Seattle Rain

**Hello World! How goes it? I'm sitting here drying off from my epic but very wet concert….lordy it was worth it. So much hotness. **

**Thanks to my spectacular readers and reviewers:**

shans97

Mythomagic-Champion

djrocks

xJayjaybenzox

Firebird

* * *

><p><strong>Alex's POV: <strong>

We rolled into the surprisingly humid Seattle with the early afternoon thunderstorm. The rain pattered on the hood of the Cadillac as Cammie and I drove through the city. I pulled the car over in front of a tattered awning that led to a pretty dubious looking hotel.

Cammie looked around as she unbuckled her seatbelt, "Are you sure you know where you're going…or more specifically where you're at right now? This kind of looks like a bad attempt at a '70s brothel."

I laughed, pulling up the collar of my newly acquired coat up to avoid the rain, "Don't worry so much. Trust is important to a relationship."

I wanted to slap myself. _Relationship! Where did that come from?_

Cammie ignored my gaffe, following me inside the hotel, "If I wasn't a martial arts expert," she said that part rather loudly as we entered the lobby, "I might be slightly afraid."

The only occupant of the decrepit room besides some moldy chairs, fifteen-year-old newspapers, and dead cockroach, was a man behind the counter that looked older than the building itself. "Can I help you?" he rasped without looking up from his dogged pursuit of an unsuspecting fly.

I cleared my throat and did my best to sound exceptionally nervous, "Umm…yeah. I was- Well, I was- I mean, do you-"

"Yes, private rooms are fifty a night or ten bucks an hour."

I shoved a twenty at him, "Two hours please." Cammie gasped a little besides me, then stomped hard enough on my foot that I had to bite my tongue to keep from calling out.

The man laughed stiffly as he handed me a worn room key, "Young people these days, it's all about the quickies."

I laughed a high-pitched nervous giggle, grabbing Cam's arm, directing us towards the elevator and away from the lurid comments from the old man. As soon as the elevator doors closed, Cammie slammed me back against the wall, "What. The. Heck. Are. You. Thinking?"

I smiled, "I just needed to get a room key. A couple wanting some privacy seemed like the best option."

She didn't look very impressed, "I could have stolen it."

"So could I. This was easier."

She stepped back, eyeing me with what I'd come to think of as the patented 'The Gallagher Girl Is Pissed' look. She turned around, crossing her arms over her chest, "Next time, you lay out the entire plan for me. Need I remind you how many ways I could kill you without leaving _any _evidence, or a body around to alert the authorities?"

I held my hands up in mock surrender, "So sorry, your highness, I didn't mean to offend your delicate senses."

Before she had the chance to say anything else or injure me, the elevator opened to reveal the ninth floor. Cleaner than might be expected, I lead the way down the dark hall to the last room on the left, 917.

I slipped the key into the lock and gave it a savage twist. When the door wouldn't open, Cammie happily pointed out that we were at the wrong room, "Those numbers on _our _key says 621, I think we might be a few _floors _off."

I shot her my best 'SHUT UP' glare before going back to the key. Giving it another twist, I kicked at the bottom of the door with one foot and stomped on the floor with the other. No easy feat let me tell you. I could feel Cammie roll her eyes and start to say something else when there was a loud grinding noise from the end of the hallway.

I spun around to watch the reaction on Cammie's face. As expected, her face remained mostly emotionless, but her eyes gave her away. They looked like two huge gray saucers and her mouth was slightly agape.

"What," she pointed down the hall, "exactly is that?"

I grinned, in what I hoped to be a devilish manner, "It's easier to show you then try to explain, come on."

Just as we had entered the doorway, there was a flash of lightning and a crash of thunder. The whole building started to shake with terrifying force and Cammie latched on to my arm, shouting over the din of breaking glass and pounding rain, "This is supposed to happen, right?"

I shook my head as the lights flickered on and off, "I don't think so!"

"Then what-" Cammie started but her words were cut off by our screams as the floor buckled beneath us, sending us hurtling down a black abyss.

The last thing that I remember was looking back up only to see the roof collapse, followed by a gust of wind and torrent of rain. My hands ran desperately along the walls, trying to find something- anything- to hang on to. Just seconds before I crashed to the ground, I realized that I was the only one screaming…Cammie wasn't with me anymore. Before I had time to act, I slammed into something hard and the world faded away.

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><p><strong>I know I said Monday…but I am a procrastinator. Plus, this was über short. And I was watching the <strong>**In Plain Sight**** final season. I hate how it ended. A lot. Please review!**

**Agent Striker**


	8. The Pit Extraction and Other Adventures

**I'm sorry some of you found the last chapter to be confusing, it did kind of suck, but hopefully this will make up for it!**

**Thanks readers and reviewers:**

djrocks

Mythomagic-Champion

shans97

xJayjaybenzox

Firebird

* * *

><p><strong>Cammie's POV: <strong>

As Alex and I fell through the hole in the floor, I had kept the presence of mind to try and break my fall. Alright, so my belt caught on something nearly cutting me in half, also saving me from whatever lay at the bottom of the pit. If I hadn't gotten caught, _then_ I would have kept the afore mentioned presence of mind. Didn't need to as the case was.

I hung there for a minute as the rain poured down and soaked me, trying to catch my breath. Just as suddenly as the storm and the shaking of the building stated, it stopped, leaving me literally hanging. "Alex?" I called, "Alex, are you okay?"

There was a groan from far below me. Really far below me. "Alex?" I called again, almost verging on panic. Not that Gallagher Girls really panic. "Groan again if you're alive!"

There was a heartbeat of silence, then a voice croaked, "Cam?"

I smiled in the darkness, "What the heck happened? Are you okay?"

"I'm going to be mega sore tomorrow, but nothing's broken. Where are you?"

"My belt caught on something, I'm hanging-" I paused and ran the mathematical formula for determining distance blow a fixed point using sound waves and decibel levels that Liz had come up with as _one_ of her senior projects, "I think I'm about twelve feet above you."

There was shuffling below me followed by cursing as Alex stumbled into or over something, "I wish we had some light."

"Yeah, that might be help-Wait!" I grinned as I fiddled with my belt buckle, clicking, twisting, and pushing like I'd been shown. There was a soft hum as the LED came to light, shining down on Alex, "Voilà!"

Shielding his eyes from the bright light, Alex looked up towards where I was hanging, "What _is_ that?"

"A graduation gift from my Aunt Abby. Belt with built in flashlight. Plus it's reversible, brown Italian leather _or _black. It's pretty much epic."

"Where'd she find that?"

"From a friend of a friend of a friend of an aunt of a friend of a colleague in the joint who passed it to buddy on the outside with a friend in intelligence who prototyped it for him then got wacked for stealing it when the other guy got out of prison…but all names are classified. And it's one of a kind. How cool is that?"

Alex shook head, "We need to get out of here, see any doors near you?"

I craned my neck around, careful not to dislodge my precarious location. To my far left, I could just make out what looked like a half-caved in doorway, "As a matter of fact there is. I think I can just-" I stretched my arm towards the edge of the door, I scooted my belt off the projectile it was hooked to. Just as my belt slipped off the edge of where it had been stuck, I sprung forward to get a handful of the edge of the doorframe.

"Got it!" I shouted triumphantly.

"Great, but how am I going to get up there?"

As I swung my leg up and rolled into what once might have been a hallway, I ran all the options through my mind.

**Options for Getting Alex Out of THE PIT:**

**1. Leave, get a firefighter or two, then come back and complete a fairly simple extraction. This however, would require me to explain who I was and why we were here in the first place. **

**2. Encourage Alex to scale the walls. Unfortunately, the walls were nearly completely smooth.**

**3. Find rope and help Alex climb out. Good idea, but the only thing in sight was some torn up carpet shreds and broken boards. Not helpful. **

**4. …I am out of ideas.**

"Umm…you could climb." I suggested.

"Really?"

"Best option right now. You don't happen to have any rope on you, par chance?"

There was a moment of hush, then an excited yelp, "I do, I have twenty-five feet of Paracord. Hold on."

_Where was he hiding _twenty-five feet_ of Paracord?_

There was a soft _bump _as something hit doorway, "Catch that!"

I scrambled to catch the length of rope before it tumbled back down, "Where were you keeping this?" I asked as I secured the rope to one of the sturdier looking support beams.

"Survivor strap! Rope bracelet! Your end secure?"

"Yup, come on up!"

It took several grunting-and-cursing minutes, but Alex managed to work his way up the wall of the pit with out to much assistance. Sweating and out of breath, He pulled his rope up then turned to survey the hallway, "I guess we should go this way."

"Good choice. Oh wait, it's the only choice."

Alex rolled his eyes, "You can lead the way since your belt is the only flashlight we've got."

I squared my shoulders and sauntered past him, we'd been traveling together for less than forty-eight hours and we'd already appended a criminal, stolen a car, and survived some sort of earthquake. Sweet.

* * *

><p>After twenty minutes of dodging broken boards, rusty nails and four incredibly large rats, Alex and I both came to the conclusion that we were going deeper into the bowels of the hotel…or what was left of it anyways.<p>

"So would you like to explain why we were coming down here in the fist place?" I asked as we passed another fat rat. Eww.

Alex grumbled something that I didn't catch, but moved to walk beside me as he spoke, "Well, a friend…okay, a gamer buddy I met online, then met for real once, lives down here."

I couldn't decide what was odder, the fact that Alex was a gamer or that he actually met any of the people that he gamed with. "You're a gamer?"

"It was for an op, but yeah. Marty was a big help in solving the case actually."

Weird...and he'd met Marty _ONCE? _Sounds like the beginning of a third-rate horror movie.

We had come up to a three way split of the tunnel and I glanced over at my traveling companion, "Well, where do you think Marty is now?"

Alex stopped, carefully examining all three offshoots, "Hmm. I really don't-"

Alex was cut off by a five star squeal, one that sounded something like a dying cat being eaten by a rabid rat on steroids with the devil on his heals, "!"

The noise came from the center tunnel, "That's it," Alex pointed, "that sounds just like Marty."

Suddenly I wasn't so interested in meeting Marty anymore.

* * *

><p>Jogging down the tunnel, I nearly broke my neck as a downward stairwell appeared out of now where. I followed Alex, who had taken the lead despite the fact he didn't have a flashlight. Apparently, that also meant he wasn't going to inform me of upcoming obstacles, "Where does this lead?" I called out again.<p>

"HALT! WHO GOES THERE? FRIEND OR FOE?" A voice reverberated so loudly that I dropped to my knees and threw my hands over my ears to block out the noise. I had lost Alex and the floor was shaking again. There was a repeating flash of light that made my head spin, and the warning message was repeating and getting louder.

"ALEX?" I shouted, but I could barely hear myself over the noise. Time for a new tactic.

I crawled towards a tall door that I hadn't noticed before; it seemed to be where the blasting noise was coming from. I stood when I reached it, looking for someway to get inside. There was no doorknob, but there was a lock. Ripping two bobby pins out of my hair, I shoved them into the lock, thankful again for Nancy Drew.

**Fun ****Classified**** Fact: Nancy Drew was a real person. A Gallagher Girl who graduated in the 1930s and played a huge roll in busting Depression-Era crime, post- and pre-World War II crime, as well as Cold War crime, Nancy's activities in all of her books are somewhat factual, of course they were dumbed down for the general public and drained of any and all classified information. She is the Gallagher Girl who perfected the 'Bobby Pin Lock Picking' style as well as thirty-two other uses for them. She's still alive as a matter of fact; she just turned ninety-five at her home in Florida where she's living with two of her closest friends, Frank and Joseph Hardy. Ned Nickerson was a fictional character semi-based on a criminal ex of Nancy. The names the Hardys and Drew are using in Florida are Level Twnety-Three Security clearance, meaning that NOBODY knows what they are. **

_Click. _Finally, the door popped open and I tumbled inside. Jumping to my feet and assuming a defensive position, I was ready for anything…or so I thought.

Looking back, I don't think there is anything one can do to prepare for meeting Marty for the first time.

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><p><strong>Oops, another cliffhanger…reviews make me HAPPY and if I'm HAPPY I want to UPDATE faster. <strong>

**Love, **

**Striker**


	9. Marty

**Hey y'all! Hope you didn't forget about moi! Thanks to my reviewers and readers!**

* * *

><p><strong>Alex's POV:<strong>

As sad as this was looking back, Marty probably screamed fifty times louder than Cammie…or any other girl I've even known for that matter.

"OH! MY! GAWD! PERIMETER BREECHED! AHH! HELP, SOMEONE! SCARY CHICK! PERIMETER BREECHED! RETREATTTTTTT!"

Barely clearing five feet, Marty 'Buttkicker' Butkus (Yes that is his _real _last name. Apparently it's Lithuanian.), had fiery red hair that had some serious…volume going on. It kind of stood up like a bad attempt at an Afro crossed with an electrification victim's hair standing straight on end. His skin was really pale, like he rarely stepped out into the real world, but behind all of the weird, geekiness…and the cape he likes to wear…a true genius and a nice guy lurks.

At the moment though, his genius was definitely hiding. Running around with his cape, fiery hair, and something that looked suspiciously like a Harry Potter magic wand, I sort of wanted to deny knowing him at all.

"Marty," I said. To no avail.

"Marty!" I tried again.

"PERIMETER BREECHED! AHH! I AM TRAINED IN NINJA KILLING ARTS! STAY AWWAYY! AHHHHH! SOMEBODY HELP!"

"MARTY! SHUT! UP!"

Marty froze like a deer in the headlights; just staring at me with his big blue eyes and blinking like Kristen Stewart. Cammie hadn't lost her voice though, "WHAT IS GOING ON?"

"Stop shouting and I'll tell you!"

"WHAT? I THINK ALL ALARMS SCREWED UP MY HEARING!"

Of course. All the shouting seemed to have snapped Marty out of his deer-like reverie. "AH! Alex, she's an INVADER! DON'T GET TO CLOSE!"

Cammie sort of looked like a caged animal that was about to make Marty into a grease spot on the ground. Marty looked like an insane person, but that's already been discussed, I digress.

"EVERYONE STOP!" I screamed. This got both their attentions, "Cammie, this is my _friend _Marty who is going to HELP me. Marty, this is another one of my _friends _Cammie, who is also HELPING me. Can we all just get along now?"

Marty was now standing at my side like a loyal dog and Cammie's defensive position was…well only slightly less defensive. I couldn't blame her.

Marty cleared his throat, "You always seem to come in with storms, Alex. How have you been?"

"Great, Marty. Or I was until I was framed for a crime I didn't commit and I almost died when the floor collapsed. And I have this sneaking feeling that you were behind the falling floor."

He had the decency to look slightly sheepish, "Yeah, sorry about that. Been working on a new alarm system. It seems to have gone slightly awry."

"Slightly?" Cammie piped up from the doorway, "You demolished this half of the building."

Marty looked peeved, "Oops. I suppose that the fire department will see that this hotel as structurally compromised anyway. It was going to go any day."

Cammie stood open mouth, but before she could come to her senses and say something that might insult Marty, I cut in, "So Marty, where are you going to live now?"

He shrugged, "My home wasn't damaged, simply the front yard. Just let me grab my speaker and computer and it'll be like I was never here."

Yanking a surprisingly small speaker for something that could make so much noise from the wall, Marty folded up his slim laptop and stuck it in a bag that was nearly hidden by his cape. Without a word, he turned and marched towards a downward staircase in the far corner of the room.

Cammie had come over next to me and sharply elbowed me in the ribs, "Now where are we going?" she hissed.

Shrugging I followed Marty down the darkened, musty stairwell, "Probably to his rooms."

Cursing, she stumbled over something in the semi-darkness, "I thought you'd been here before."

Shrugging again, I continued at a cautious pace, "Marty can be a bit of a odd duck. He has rooms all over the Underground, it really depends on where he feels like staying."

"What 'Underground'?" Cammie asked, tripping again.

"You've never heard of the Seattle Underground?"

"You think I'd be asking if I had?" she muttered. Obviously, she was not particularly fond of Marty.

"It's basically a huge network of old city streets that were covered up after a fire destroyed most of wooden structures of the city in 1889. They raised the new woodless town up two stories to avoid floods since Seattle is built on tidal plains."

"So Marty lives in a creepy underground city by himself…why hasn't the city closed up these things?"

By now, we had made our way down into the old streets. I'll have to admit, it's sort of spooky down here, but it also had an aura about it, something that made you wanted to explore every nook and cranny. "They give tours of certain parts of the Underground," I said in answer to Cammie's comment, "it's a booming tourist business. Don't you know anything about your own country?"

Cammie stepped down hard on the back of my foot, "For your information, the United States is a heck of a lot bigger than Great Britain, so while I know more than most Americans about our country, I don't know every single little detail about every city."

"Sorry," I muttered, unsure why she was in such a nasty mood. Before I had a chance to ponder that for very long, Marty jerked to a stop. I nearly barreled into him and Cammie did barrel into me.

"Home sweet home," Marty said aloud, shoving a heavy-looking key into an ornate lock.

Pushing the door back, I was surprised to see the room was bright, clean, and cheery…as far as a basement goes.

Computers lined three of the walls, with a couch and small kitchenette on the fourth. This room was the precise reason I had come to Marty. If there was something going on in the intelligence world, Marty would know.

I had neglected to tell Cammie that Marty was also a computer hacker and one of the most formidable information collectors alive today . She wasn't going to be very thrilled, but the less she knew, the less she would be able to tell anyone if we were caught.

Plopping down in one of four wheely chairs, Marty spun around to look at Cammie and I, "So, what can I do for you this time, Alex?"

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><p><strong>Cliffy! I'm flying out to my cousin's wedding on Friday and don't get back 'til the 2<strong>**nd**** of July…plus I'm working at a summer camp this week, so I don't know if I'll get another chapter up in the near future…just have patience, lovies!**

**Review!**

**~Striker**


	10. An Interlude: Meanwhile At Gallagher

**This is sort of a filler chapter…I'm still working out a few bumps in the plot. **

**Thanks to my fabulous readers and my AMAZING reviewers (y'all know who you are!) Gee, I wish everyone would leave a review...it's even easier now with all the hinky things they've done to the reviewing system... ;]  
><strong>

**Enjoy!**

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><p><strong>Third Person POV:<strong>

Rachel Morgan smiled to herself as she wandered the now-empty halls of the Gallagher Academy for Exceptional Young Women. The soft _click-click_ of her heels was a welcome reprieve to the usually buzzing halls. Rachel loved the school, don't get her wrong, but sometimes a little quiet was heavenly.

Still smiling, she found herself at the door to her daughter's room, what had been her daughter's room, she corrected herself. Cammie had finally graduated, with flying colors, making Rachel very proud. She could almost see Matt's smile at the thought of their daughter all grown up.

Swallowing the lump of emotion in her throat, Rachel put on her brightest smile and knocked on the door. When there was no answer, Rachel chuckled to herself and twisted the knob. It was nearly one o'clock in the afternoon. Day-after-graduation or not, there was no need to sleep the whole day away.

Stepping inside of the room, Rachel immediately knew something was wrong. All of Cam's former roommates' stuff had been hauled away and most of Cammie's things had been packed into boxes, which still stood at the window. The bed was made crisply just like it had to be every morning and the curtains had been pushed back from the window, lighting up the whole room.

However, a few small details caught Rachel's well-trained eyes, telling her something was off. The black duffle bag with the Gallagher crest embossed on it, the one Cammie had filled wit the gear she would need for the flight to her grandparent's house, had been sitting on table next to the bathroom door… but it wasn't there anymore.

Crossing the room, Rachel stuck her head into the bathroom and flicked on the light switch. The bright lights illuminated an immaculate counter top. A countertop more immaculate than Rachel had seen since Cammie had first moved in the summer before seventh grade.

All the makeup materials, hair supplies, perfume bottles, face creams, jewelry, and other toiletries that had been covering the counter just last night were now gone. It didn't take a spy to see that Cammie had left.

Spinning out of the bathroom, Rachel was nearly out of the dorm room when a sheet of paper on top of one of the boxes. Picking it up, she frowned as she read the hastily penned words:

_Mom-_

_A good friend needs my help getting out of a tight spot. He's saved my life before and it's time that I repay the gesture. _

_I'll be home in time to start training, don't worry. Please tell Grandma and Grandpa I might be a little later than expected. _

_Love Always, _

_Cammie_

Cursing softly in Lithuanian, she stuck the paper into one pocket and pulled her smart phone out of the other. Tapping like mad on the touchscreen, she pulled up the CIA alert page.

Sure enough, in big red letters there was a new interagency BOLO from MI6 that had only been issued forty-eight hours earlier.

**WARNING:**

**Rogue Operative**

**Former MI6 operative Alexander (Alex) Rider is wanted for questioning in regard to his supposed connection to the information broker, **_**Der**__**Schwarz **__**Teufel**_** (The Black Devil)**** AKA Thomas Sullivan Harris. It is believed that Rider is the agent who has been supplying Harris with his information. Beware; Rider has been extensively trained in combat, disguise, languages, as well as espionage. He is considered to be armed and dangerous. **

Blowing a lung full of air out of her mouth, Rachel closed her eyes, attempting to control her anger. There was a _bing _and she looked back at her phone. The BOLO had just been updated:

***Update: Rider's last known location was Tijuana, Mexico and he is believed to be traveling north into the United States with a currently unidentified woman. **

Below the latest blurb was a grainy, blurry, black-and-white security photo. It was impossible to tell who the medium length darkish hair belonged to, but Rachel had a sinking suspicion that she knew. Call it mother's intuition.

"Oh Cammie, what have you gotten yourself into now?" she asked the empty room.

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><p><strong>Well, that actually turned out a little better than I thought. How'd you like it? I'll <strong>_**try **_**to get an update on by Friday(Try being the operative word there). I do have a movie date with my bestie Page and work next week, so we'll see. **

**Love, **

**Striker**


	11. The Curse

**I appreciate all yinns patience! Are we ready to get down to some nitty-gritty? "**_**You and me goin' fishin' in the dark, lying on our backs and countin' the stars where the cool grass grows…"**_

**Oh, not the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band? My bad. **

**Thanks to all my amazing reviewers/commenters/whatever the new review system is. I find it rather confusing, but they neglected to ask me. Oh, I also love my readers!**

**Cammie's POV:**

As Alex explained what was going on to Marty, I carefully took in our surroundings. Or more specifically the computers in our surroundings. They were huge, and what I knew about computers, (which was a lot, I have to say…not that I'm being conceited or anything), said these were something special.

After living with Liz Sutton for all the years at Gallagher, we had all spent hours studying with her or listening to her talk about computer for hours on end. Next to the whole scientific aspect of espionage, computers were her passion.

To tell you the truth, I think she didn't like that there was something in the world that could actually hold more information on then she could hold in her own brain. Understanding computers made her feel smarter than them. Not that I'd ever tell her that. *******These Words Will Not See The Light Of Day*******

But I digress. Listening to Liz talk, there were only two reasons that anyone would ever have computers this big. And when I say big, I mean Internet connection speeds, megabytes, vectors, bitmaps, monochromes, wireframes, antivirus, ADC, ADF, TCP/IP, UDDI, Gigaflops, Servers, Serial Ports, Gigahertz, KDE, AGP, and KDE…not to mention the Ultra DMA and the sheer size of the plain old memory.

I can feel you rolling your eyes already. And I did not make a single letter of that up. Go get a computer tec guide if you're confused.

Anyway. The reasons why someone would have a computer that big:

**1. They work for the government.**

**2. They work **_**against**_** the government.**

Did I mention that it's nearly impossible to get half of this computer equipment without some sort of government connection? Any government.

**Sum Up: Hardcore. **

Alex was pulling something out of his pocket. A necklace. Oh yeah, the creepy one with the snake, I'd almost forgotten.

**A Brief Recap: The Necklace**

**Operative Cameron Morgan**

**This necklace, formally described by Operative Rider: **

"_With a long, dull silver chain, the necklace would hang low on anyone wearing it. The pendent center was a remarkable green stone with an engraved snake wrapped around it. The snake's tongue darted out of its mouth, giving the whole piece a very sinister look."_

**This necklace was the reason that Rider was in Mexico after he spoke with Tom Harris (The Black Devil) for the first time since they were children.**

Marty wouldn't make a very good spy…because when he saw the necklace, his eyes bugged out and his jaw nearly hit the floor. Of course, he attempted to be suave about the whole thing.

Laughing nervously, he leaned back in his chair, trying to get to the necklace, "Oh, very umm…Halloween-y."

"Ever seen one like it before?" Alex asked. He obviously wasn't paying any attention to Marty's tell-all face.

"No, no, no. Never," Marty said to quickly, finally catching Alex's attention.

"Marty," Alex said slowly, leaning closer to the geek, "you're not lying to me, are you?"

"No, no, no! Would I lie to you?"

Before Alex could answer, I stormed across the room, doing my best intimidation move. Sticking my face just inches from Marty, I hissed in a low voice, "I'd hate to have scare you Marty, but I can kill you with a paper clip."

This apparently was a little too much intimidation. With a crash, Marty's chair clattered to the floor, where he lay looking like he was going to brush into tears. Alex shot me a look that clearly stated, _What was that?_

Shrugging, I stuck my hand out to Marty. Who proceeded to squeal like a six-year-old girl. To tell the truth, I was beginning to wonder if Marty was actually short for Martha.

"Marty, I am beginning to lose my patience. You are going to sit up. Then you are going to tell Alex and I all about this necklace. Are we clear?"

Marty sniffled, but he nodded and clamored to his feet. Taking a deep breath, he pointed to the necklace, "It's the Pietersen piece. The only one in existence."

"Who's Pietersen?" Alex asked.

"Nicolas Pietersen was a Dutch jeweler who was born in Pennsylvania. Late nineteenth century, early twentieth century. Spent twenty years of his life making jewelery and that one necklace at the start of his career," Marty replied sullenly.

"How is he famous if he made _one _necklace?" Alex questioned.

"How much is this thing worth?" I wondered aloud.

Marty looked between us. He decided to answer Alex first, "He made a lot of fine rings for a lot of rich people. Earrings too. Because of the one-of-a-kindness of the necklace along with the story, it's worth close to three million."

The air _whooshed _out of my lungs, "Three _million _dollars?"

"Million?" Alex croaked. He'd been carrying it in his back pocket…I felt slightly sick to my stomach.

Marty nodded, "Yep. But that's not the best part."

Oh, heavens. "What's the best part?"

"The curse."

I locked eyes with Alex, "The curse? Care to share?" I asked.

Marty smiled, something somewhat terrifying, "Let me tell you a story…"

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><p><strong>Marty's Tale<strong>

**As Recorded by Operatives Morgan and Rider**

_**Nicolas Pietersen**__**'s life was not an easy one. Born the youngest to a large, poor, Pennsylvania Dutch family, **__**Pietersen's had an odd fascination with metals, gems, and witchcraft that made him an outcast. He was often picked on, ostracized, and bullied by **__**his brothers, father, and schoolmates. His beloved grandfather was the only one who seemed to understand young Nicolas.**_

_**It turns out that this grandfather was an old-world jeweler with a fondness for folklore and witchcraft. It was said that the old man was a Hexenmeister, or a sorcerer. Filling the boy's head with tales of magic and wordy spells, it was no surprise that when this boy grew up, he was **_**still**_** considered odd.**_

_**Then enters **__**Esmeralda Montago. Beautiful, curvy, brunette, half-Spanish, emerald green eyes, the whole package; she captured Nicolas's heart without really trying. He made the pendent necklace for her, a symbol of his undying love, then gave it to her. **_

_**She laughed in his face, told him he was a creep, that she would never consider loving someone like him, and worst of all, that the necklace was ugly. This totally shattered young Nicolas. For a while, he was depressed, then he became very angry. Probably because he saw some other guy kissing Esmeralda. **_

_**He went home and prepared a potion, contents unknown, and pulled out one of his grandfather's books of spells. Finding one, he tore the page form the ancient binding and went to find Esmeralda. **_

_**Dumping the potion in the Montago Well at midnight, he muttered these words: **_

_**Death as a new world of beauty, **_

_**One without betrayal,**_

_**Unfaithfulness, **_

_**Or lust.**_

_**With this brew, **_

_**I do promise**_

_**For every emerald who drinks this water, **_

_**Thou will be delivered unto the arms of thy savior, **_

_**In death thy will become better, **_

_**Most innocent and pure.**_

_**With those final words, he dropped the necklace into the well and left. Three days later, the lovely Esmeralda was dead. **_

_**The necklace was recovered **_**years**_** later, along with **__**Pietersen**__**'s memoirs detailing all of this. Since then, the necklace has belonged to seventeen different owners, all of which have met with some unfortunate death, until it was finally donated to a museum in southern Pennsylvania. **_

_**It was stolen two months ago.**_

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><p>I met Alex's eyes, this was an unbelievable story…except he looked like he sorta believed it. Before I could say anything however, there was a bang as something heavy hit the floor. It took a minute to register, and that's when someone busted the door open and all hell broke loose.<p>

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><p><strong>Oh, cliffy! And although it's barely Friday, it's still Friday! Y'all proud of moi? Review and tell me!<strong>

**Lots of Love, **

**Striker **


	12. Road Trip!

**Hey guys! Sorry about the delay, I seriously sat down to write this chapter last night and got a serious case of ADD. It was **_**bad**_**. Anywho, thanks to my readers and reviewers! You people are splendid; glad you're enjoying the story!**

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><p><strong>Alex's POV:<strong>

The next few minutes flew by in a frenzied fight. The broken door had revealed the two guys who had been in my room in Mexico.

The smaller guy, and I mean smaller in the most marginal of terms, flew across the room towards Cammie and his larger friend was heading straight for me. I felt a fist full of paper thrust into my hands and glancing over my shoulder I caught a glimpse of Marty disappearing into a passage that must have been hidden behind the wall.

I had just enough time to shove the papers into the pocket of my shorts before Big Goon was on top of me. Ramming my elbow into his gut hard, well as hard as I could considering he had me pinned to the ground, all I got for my effort was a face full of Marty's dirty carpet.

Twisting around, I managed to get my foot into the guy's stomach, which apparently caused him more pain because his grip loosened just enough I could get my hand free. Throwing all my weight into it, I sent my fist into his jugular. With a gurgling noise, he was stumbling backwards. I grinned to myself at my own ingenuity.

Or at least I thought my hit to the jugular was what got him off of me. In retrospect, it was probably Cammie yanking on both of his ears with something that looked sort of like clothespins that appeared to be sparking. She unclipped him and he fell to the floor, twitching and moaning. The other guy lay in a motionless heap wearing one of Marty's computer screens as a necklace.

"What the heck is that thing?" I asked Cammie as she pulled the gun from Big Goon's holster and stuck it in the waist of her shorts next to the one that I assumed belonged to the Littler-But-Not-By-Much Goon.

"A prototype that a friend of mine invented. She gave it to me as a graduation present."

I laughed as we headed for the door, "So you're the one with all of the gizmos now, huh?"

She didn't answer, instead opting to race towards the end of the darkened hallway. We were now jogging up what was left of the stairs to the hotel. Dodging the still stunned looking patrons; we raced to the car without stopping to take in the wreck of the building. Cammie had the doors open by the time I caught up to her and she tossed me a screw driver, "Grab the license plates, I think it's time for a new car."

With practiced ease, I loosened the plates and shoved them into my duffle bag, a green one that had been a present from Jack. I ignored the lump in my throat at the thought of her. I really hoped that she wouldn't be to worried about me.

Following Cam's back through the crowd around the hotel, we headed south, running until we came to the airport. "I figure we can get a car from one of the airport parking lots, that way we'll have a lesser chance of getting busted…right away at least."

Nodding, I tossed my bag over the high fence like Cammie had and followed her over the bar, ignoring the pain in my side where my stiches were. We landed in the early dusk in a crouching position. Looking both ways, we dashed towards the row of cars at the end, the one with the least amount of light.

At the very end of the row sat a older Ford pick-up truck, F-250, black and red striped with a lot of chrome. The sticker in the window said that the truck had been dropped off the day before and wasn't going to be picked up for almost a month. "This looks pretty perfect," I said as I quietly picked the lock on the driver's side.

I saw Cammie's shadow nod, "Yeah, couldn't ask for better. Now the only question is how do we get it out of here?"

I shrugged, "That's your department."

Cammie looked like she sort of wanted to hit me with something, but voices at the end of our row stopped her.

"Well, these are the last two. Man, I hate these 'complementary' car washes. Totally screws up my schedule."

Another masculine voice spoke up, "Yeah, me too. And the big bosses won't even pay us overtime."

Two lean parking lot attendants were getting closer with each step. "Quick," Cammie's whisper broke through the silence, "Lock the door and follow me to the bed."

"What?"

Smacking me, hard, she slammed the lock down and closed the door without making a sound. Tossing our bags into the back of the truck, she effortlessly swung herself over the side, "Come on!" she hissed.

Following her, albeit less gracefully, I landed next to her, pressing myself flat on the floor to her right. Just seconds later, we heard the key in the lock and the cargo light came on. Holding my breath, I waited until the truck had been started and we were following the other attendant towards the front of the lot.

"So is the back of a truck called the 'bed?' " I asked with a slight smirk. Cammie shushed me with another hard slap…it hurt, but I smiled anyways.

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><p>Twenty minutes exceedingly long minutes later, minutes that reminded me a lot of the time I spent in the trunk of a car in England before crossing the English Channel in a stolen boat, the truck bounced to a stop. "This thing really needs new springs," I muttered to no one in particular. Cammie kicked me in the shin. It crossed my mind that she seemed a lot more violent then she was when we first met.<p>

Pulling in behind the other car, the driver hunkered down to wait for his turn in the car wash, "Cam," I murmured, "if we don't get out of here soon, we're going to get an unscheduled bath."

"Don't you think I know that?" she whispered harshly.

I waited a heartbeat, "Well?"

"Well, what?"

"What's the plan?"

"Don't really have one."

I fought the urge to hit my head against the floor of the bed of the truck, "Wow. I'm so impressed with the education at," I paused and did my best snooty Upper Class British accent, "The Gallagher Academy For Exceptional Young Women."

She was really beginning to look massively pissed off. Sliding close, way into my personal space, she hissed something seriously scary that I will never, ever forget. It's not something that I'd ever repeat, but let's say that I won't be insulting Gallagher in the near future. As in never again.

Sliding carefully over me, she dropped noiselessly over the side of the truck, then popped up and yanked open the driver's door. In a breathless moment, she knocked the out, pulling him behind the money-taker in front of the car wash.

Just as the garage doors opened, I shoved the bags into the truck cab and jumped into the driver's seat behind Cammie, "What happened to 'know one will know the car is gone?" I asked.

She ignored me, "Go into the carwash, it'll give us a few minutes to strategize."

I pulled the truck into the washing stall as Cammie dug a small computer out of her bag. It was about the size of two iPhones folded over each other, it had a full HD screen and a keyboard. "What's that?" I asked as the spray started.

"It's classified. But basically it's a mini computer with more than fifty times the memory of a regular computer that gets Internet connections all over the world, no matter what. Standard CIA issue."

"Cool. What-" Something, a memory, cut me off. "Wait, I almost forgot."

Reaching into my back pocket, I pulled out the papers that Marty had given me before he disappeared into the abyss.

"What are those?" Cammie yelled over the pulsing water.

"Marty gave them to me before he…left."

Cammie made some comment about a rat and abandonment, but I wasn't really paying attention. There were five sheets of paper in the stack Marty had given to me. The first was a copy of the story he had told us with a few more details than he had given.

The second was an old looking copy of two pictures, one beautiful dark haired woman, the other a solemn looking young man in his twenties. Written in the bottom corner in spidery, old-fashioned penmanship were the names '_Esmeralda'_ and '_Nicholas_.' At this point, last names weren't necessary, we knew who they were. The jeweler/Hexenmeister, (warlock), Nicolas Pietersen and the heartbreaker vixen Esmeralda Montago.

Handing the first two sheets to Cammie, I turned to the third. It was an old newspaper clipping documenting the necklace and the curse which included all of the previous owners names. The forth sheet of paper was contact information for relatives or people close to the owners who had died.

The fifth sheet was the most confusing. It was a faded flyer for the opening Witchcraft Museum in Lancaster, Pennsylvania; nowhere I'd ever heard of. And the date on the flyer was nearly ninety years ago.

Cammie scanned the pages as I handed them to her. Looking at both the list of names and addresses as well as the museum flyer, she grinned, "Well, I guess I know where we're going now. This first address, Sadie Crawford's, is right here in Seattle."

"But the other names are all over the country," I pointed out.

She grinned, something that totally caught me off guard, "Looks like we're in for another road trip."

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><p><strong>Well, there you go. We'll be meeting Sadie in the next chapter. I got her name from something, who can guess what?<strong>

**~Striker**


	13. Ms Sadie Crawford: Seattle, WA

**Hey y'all! Thanks to my readers and reviewers:**

Mythomagic-Champion **(good guess, but NOPE!)**

shans97

**Alas, nobody guessed the name! Sadie Crawford makes a brief appearance in the HerInteractive Nancy Drew Game #13 ****Last Train to Blue Moon Canyon****. She is a doll. Random I know, it was the first name that popped into my head. **

**Who's ready for the first Cursed-Necklace-Owner's-Friends/Realtives-Since-The-Owner-Got-Cursed-And-Kicked-The-Bucket?**

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><p><strong>Cammie's POV:<strong>

"Turn here," I said, pointing to the left without looking up from the map on my iPhone.

After complying to my command, Alex's voice broke through my concentration, "Why are we going to go talk to Ms. Sadie Crawford again?"

"To ask her about the necklace."

"And then what?"

"Then we head to Baker City, Oregon to talk to Preston Giles."

He was silent for a minute, "And after we talk to all of the people on the list? Then what?"

"We return the necklace to the museum in Pennsylvania," I replied.

"What about clearing my name? Remember the whole Treason charge hanging over my head?"

I rolled my eyes and spoke slowly, "No, I haven't forgotten. Don't worry about that right now, I've got in under control."

"You want to elaborate on that for me?"

I smiled as we pulled to a halt in front of a tall, boxy apartment complex, "I would, but we're here. Sadie's room should be the ground floor unit right over there."

Shooting me a semi-pissed off look as I hopped out of the truck, he let my comment slide. It was probably better that he didn't know for the time being, I didn't need him to stress out over it.

Strolling quickly up the path, I glanced at my watch, doing mental calculations. It was close to seven, early enough that Ms. Crawford should still be up, but late enough that she should be finished with dinner. From what I could tell with the map, it should take us a little over six hours to get to Baker City, so if we left here by eight, we'd arrive at two in the morning. We could get a motel room, sleep till nineish, go see Mr. Giles, be back on the road by eleven and to our next stop by five thirty.

My thought process was interrupted by a loud scream. Breaking into a jog, Alex and I made it to the front porch just as the door flew open and a very scantily clad female shot out of the house, nearly bowling me over, "What's wrong?" I asked, "Are you okay?"

Although she was wrapped in a fluffy white towel with a light blue one wrapped around her hair, it was easy to tell this girl was very pretty. With deeply tanned skin, dark eyebrows, and clear blue eyes, I guessed she was about my age or a little younger, "Oh my gawd, there's this _huge, Huge, HUGE, _spider in my bathroom! Oh my gawd!" she stopped her squealing long enough to look beseechingly at Alex with her big baby blues, "Will you kill it for me, please!"

All Prince Charming now, Alex gently took her arm and led her towards the house, "I certainly can, just show me where."

When he was flirting, he could 'certainly' turn up his accent. And for one, the girl, Sadie I assumed, looked like she was about ready to swoon. Blubbering on, she led us into the stark, modern glass-and-steal apartment and down a hallway.

When I was sure that she was entirely focused on Alex, I casually slowed my pace and stepped into what looked like a den. On the desk sat a sleek MacBook Pro and other than the desk and a futon, the room was empty.

Tiptoeing across the room, I listened to the screeching coming from down the hall. Pulling open the only desk drawer, all that I found was a blank pocket calendar, two pencils, a pen, and a pack of gum.

Running my finger across the mouse pad, I grinned when it opened right to the home screen. Pulling up her documents, there were only a half dozen, entitled with things like _Eco101 Paper _or _245FinalPaper. _Glancing through them, I noted that they were all in fact dull, poorly written college papers.

Checking her Internet history also yielded very little. Facebook, Gmail, Twitter, Facebook again, expensive clothing sites, and YouTube. Nothing very impressive.

On a hunch, I checked licensing info. The computer was almost brand new; it had been registered only five weeks before. Letting the computer fall back to sleep, I checked under the futon and found a very dangerous piece of lint.

So far, Sadie looked squeaky clean. Stepping out into the hallway, I followed the voices down the hall.

Alex and Sadie stood in her bathroom, looking down at the offending spider. May I just say that even Bex wouldn't be afraid of this thing, it was tiny.

"It's pretty small, Sadie, maybe I could just take it outside," Alex was saying. He saw me slip up behind her, but didn't acknowledge my presence.

"Oh Alex, you are _so _noble. Could you do that for me? Pretty please?" Sadie cooed, stretching her long (and undoubtedly freshly shaved) legs out for full viewing.

Alex was doing a very good job at pretending like he was enjoying this. Probably because he _wasn't_ actually pretending. I cleared my throat to remind the duo that I was there before things got to serious. Just picturing _that_ scene made me want to hurl.

Alex subtly jerked back to the real world. Glancing around, he asked, "Do you have a sheet of paper I could scoop him up with?"

Sadie nodded smiling adoringly at Alex, "Oh, sure thing."

Moving past me, her smile faded, but she continued to waltz across the room. Bending down, she gave us a very clear view of …well, everything. Alex's eyes were wide open as his jaw was just the slightest bit slack.

However, elbowing him snapped him back to reality. When Sadie took the sheet of day-old newspaper to him, I glanced around her room.

Empty and modern like the rest of the house, I could see one three-drawer dresser, a closet door, a bed, a chair, and two bedside tables. On the gray walls hung one modern, colorful work of art and there were two red throw pillows on the bed.

Alex was now leading Sadie and the spider towards the front door.

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><p><strong>Operative Report- Search of Miss Sadie Crawford's Apartment<strong>

**By: Operative Cameron A. Morgan**

**After obtaining a list of names of people connected to the famous ****Pietersen necklace and its previous owners, The Operatives set out to visit the first name on the list, one Sadie Crawford of Seattle, Washington. **

**The apartment was in a high-end development but was small itself. The room plans that had been used from the Internet showed that it was 900 square feet with one bedroom, one bathroom, a small kitchen, den and a living room. **

**After meeting Ms. Crawford outside of her apartment, Operative Rider preceded to distract her, we will not go into all of the gory details, while Operative Morgan searched her house. **

**In a small den, the only thing of any sort of value that The Operative found a computer, which yielded nothing. **

**In the bathroom, Morgan went through the meager linen closet, trash, and the huge amount of beauty products. The only dangerous thing was a very hot curling iron. The Operative found out that it was in fact hot the hard way. **

**In the bedroom, Morgan looked under the bed **_**and **_**mattress, in the bedside tables, dresser drawers, under chair/cushion, inside of all the pillows, and in the closet. She found a lot of expensive clothes, and pair of shoes to die for, but nothing of value to the investigation. **

**Moving down the hall, The Operative next entered the living room where she caught a glimpse of Operative Rider leading Ms. Crawford away from the apartment and to a large tree. Ms. Crawford had the decency to put a jacket over her towel. **

**Quickly searching the living room, which held a sofa, ottoman, chair set, television, and cabinet, Operative Morgan learned only that Ms. Crawford was a fan of **_**Pretty Little Liars **_**and **_**America's Next Top Model**_**. **

**The final stop was the kitchen. Also designed in a modern, industrial style, The Operative made fast work of it. Ms. Crawford does not eat much other than lettuce. **

**After the search, Operative Morgan was assured that Ms. Sadie Crawford had nothing to hide beside the half a quart of Moose Tracks in freezer.**

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><p>I made it to the front steps just as Alex, Sadie, and the rain rolled in. "Make your selves at home!" She called as she jogged back to the bedroom, "I'll be right out!"<p>

"Did you find what you were looking for…wait, what was that again?" Alex asked snottily as he plopped down on the creamy white sofa.

"I was just checking her out for anything odd. But everything's all clear. She's just vain and- Wait, here she comes."

I sat down just as Sadie swept into the room, her curly brown hair flowing over the shoulders of her decidedly simple, but obviously expensive dress. She smiled at Alex and sat down next to him, "So you said you were writing an article on the Pietersen necklace my great-grandfather owned?"

**Note to Self: Work on Speed-Curling Hair. 'Cause Ms. Crawford does it dang well. Jealousy. **

Alex nodded, "Yes, as I said, I'm Alex Ride and this is my partner, Cam Morton. We're free lance journalists on assignment for National Geographic."

It was a transparent lie, but Sadie fell for it. "Wow," she said in awe, "that sounds like an _amazing _job."

"It has it's days," I cut in, all smiles. "Now, what can you tell us about your great-grandfather and the necklace?"

Sadie looked at me and shrugged, "Not much really. He bought it in 1910 when they recovered it from some well after the jeweler died. He gave it to my great-grandmother the same year and he was killed in a farming accident only two weeks later in March. I assume you know about the whole curse on the thing," Sadie paused.

Alex nodded, "Yeah, we do. You can skip past that."

"Well, great-grandma found out about the curse and sold it at the end of 1910 without ever wearing it."

"That's very-" I began.

Sadie however, was now only talking to Alex. Sighing, I settled in to wait until she was finished.

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><p><strong>Number of times I attempted to reenter the conversations: 6<strong>

**Number of times I was ignored: 6**

**Number of times I wanted to hit someone: 9**

**Number of times I did hit someone: 0**

**Number of times Sadie coyly pushed her dress further up her long legs: 3**

**Number of times I considered suffering some sort of 'attack' : 19**

**Number of minutes in the conversation: 16**

**Number of other important things Sadie said: 1**

When Alex and I _finally _got out of that house, it was nearly eight. "That girl can talk," I muttered as I hopped in the passenger side.

Alex grinned, "I rather liked her."

I made a face, "Of course you did."

"Did you hear what she said about the sale of the necklace?"

I shook my head, "No, I stopped listening approximately seven seconds after she started to blabber."

"She said it was supposedly a real under-the-table sort of deal. And it was a huge price for that time. And the reselling was just as shady, they even doubled the price. That's why her family is so rich; some long lost relative took their share of the money and invested it."

I rolled my eyes, "Sounds like a load of bull to me."

Alex shrugged, "I'm just telling you what she said…Where to next?"

"Oregon."

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><p><strong>There you go! VERY long, yes? Over 2,000 words! No one's gonna be able to guess where Preston Giles came from! ;]<strong>

**Review please!**

**~Striker **


	14. Mr Preston Giles: Baker City, OR

**Well, hello people! I would like to send a BIG congrats out to **shans97** and **xJayjaybenzox** who figured out where Preston Giles came from. I'm super impressed, really guys, I didn't think that anyone reading a GG/AR fic would know who that was! Mr. Preston Giles was in the Pilot of Murder, She Wrote, a 12 season TV drama about a mystery novelist who solves murder (Angla Lansbury)…he was the murder of Sherlock Holmes as a matter of fact. OH! And he got of prison in the Return of Preston Giles…then, if memory serves, he is suspected of murder then gets murdered himself. **

**Wow, sorry for that random spiel, but I'm pretty darn Impressed. (Note the capital 'I'). Thanks to my other AMAZING readers and reviewers:**

Mythomagic-Champion

Zammie88

sweetlysecret

Firebird

**You are all my favorite people! Okay, on to the Preston Giles chapter!**

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><p><strong>Alex's POV:<strong>

The drive from Seattle to Baker City, Oregon was sort of a half-asleep blur. In the six and a half hours, we stopped once to get gas and switch drivers about two hours from our destination. Most of the trip Cammie was on her cell phone, chattering away in a language that I couldn't even begin to decipher, which is something I assume that she knew. It sort of sounded like Pig Latin got married to a wild badger, had a kid, then left it to be raised by cannibalistic pygmies.

You can probably picture the result.

We pulled into a very shady motel around two thirty, checked into one double room, much to the disapproval of the clerk, and slept until eight. Yes, in separate beds you perverts.

"Get up," Cammie muttered, sounding none to perky herself.

I moaned, "What time is it?"

"Five after eight. I took a shower; it's your turn. I'm going to go and find some coffee…and food."

The hotel room door slammed and I lay there stiffly for a minute longer before dragging myself to the icy shower. Twenty minutes later, I cleaned out the room and dropped all of our stuff in the truck before going in search of Cammie.

The lobby of the hotel held a sorry looking free breakfast buffet. There was a large urn of coffee, a basket of fruit that looked older than me, and a slightly questionable waffle maker. Snagging a healthy looking pear and a cup of surprisingly tasty coffee, I joined Cammie at the corner table where she sat with five cups of coffee, downing them like shots.

From the look on her face, I wisely decided to keep any comment I might have made to myself. Turning towards the tiny, relic of a TV, we silently watched the news.

"-And in other news, a confidential source from the Central Intelligence Agency in Washington D.C. confirmed this morning that the CIA is in fact holding a full blown man hunt for an information broker that has been selling secrets-"

Before I could catch the rest of the sentence, Cammie grabbed my arm and squeezed hard, "Ouch, Cam! What-"

I glanced across the room and swallowed the rest of my words. The two goons that I thought we'd left in Seattle were standing in the doorway, searching the crowd of vacationers for two familiar faces. Mine and Cammie's.

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><p>"Okay," Cammie said in a soft hiss, "we're going to casually get up and exit through the back to your left."<p>

She pulled some poor tourist's hat of the back of the chair, along with a chunky pair of sunglasses. Handing the hat to me, she slipped the sunglasses on, pulled her hair into her face. Without waiting for me, she got up, taking our trash with her, and sauntered towards the trashcan and the door. Watching the thugs out of the corner of my eye, waited until the door closed behind Cam before getting up.

I was nearly out of the door when a hand grabbed my arm, "Hello, Mr. Rider."

Without stopping to think, I drove my elbow into the guy's solar plexus and dove for the door, ignoring the shouting from behind me. Searching the parking lot desperately for any sign of Cammie or the truck.

There wasn't any.

Cursing under my breath, I dove behind two tall flower planters just as the thugs stepped out into the early morning sunlight. The looked around for a second before splitting up, one dodging cars in the parking lot and the other heading towards the rooms.

For a minute, I nearly panicked. Cammie had abandoned me to the mercy of MI6 and their thugs. Or maybe she'd been on assignment to help capture me the whole time…

But no, I shook my head, Cammie was my friend and I knew that if there was one thing that she held stock in, it was friendship. She'd put her life on the line for a friend.

Sitting back, I quickly ran my options through my head. Before I got very far, the sound of squealing tires made me look up from my hiding spot. I was just in time to see the tail end of our truck screeching around the corner on two wheels followed by a black SUV with two occupants.

Standing up, I pulled the baseball cap further down as I ran past the office of the motel and down the street. Tripping to a halt at the street corner, I cursed loudly again, looking up and down the street for any sign of Cammie or the goons.

Stepping away from the street and into the shadow of the corner store, I pulled the sheet of paper with the list of addresses and names on it from my pocket. I'd brought it with me to work on my memorization, 'cause apparently Cam had the whole thing already memorized, luckily for me.

The only thing that I could think of to do was head to the address on the paper and talk to Preston Giles. I had no way of contacting Cam, she'd tossed my phone in the ocean somewhere between San Diego and Seattle for 'security' reasons.

Stepping back into the sunlight, I tapped a middle-aged man on the shoulder and asked for directions to Virginia Avenue where Mr. Giles lived. From his instructions, it would only take twenty minutes of walking to get there.

After nicking a cheap pair of imitation Aviators from a sidewalk stand to add to my disguise, I slipped them on and headed west towards Mr. Giles.

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><p>Twenty-five minutes after ten, I arrived at 465 Virginia Avenue. Checking the sheet of paper three times, I mentally cursed Marty. He couldn't have saved us this trip by simply saying that Preston Giles was dead, no he had to give us directions to the cemetery where he was buried.<p>

Pushing the heavy gates aside, I stepped into the shady cemetery, walking towards the back. I had another idea about the number at the end of Giles' address, which I had assumed was an apartment number, 113. It was probably a grave plot.

Stopping inside of the caretakers office, he pointed me in the right direction, number 113 was in the far corner near the east entrance under an 'elegant' maple, or that's what the caretaker said anyways.

Giles' grave was easy enough to locate, it was a simple marble headstone that read:

**Preston Theodore Giles**

**September 30, 1903-November 22, 2009**

The old guy had lived a _long_ life, one hundred and six years, but he didn't have anything to tell me about the necklace. Marty had sent us to the grave of a guy who'd been dead for three years. Just as I was about to turn away, a soft English voice startled me, "Hello. Did you know Mr. Giles?"

I turned around to come face-to-face with a petite woman in her mid-twenties. She had a lower East side London accent, short, blonde hair held back by a headband, pale blue eyes, and slightly resembled a waif. Dressed in a modest, but stylish V-necked navy blue short-sleeved dress with a white collar and short black heels, she had a friendly, open smile.

Shaking myself, I answered with a smile, "Um, no. I didn't."

She shrugged, "He was a sweet old gentlemen. Such a sad story; an orphan from the age of eight. He moved out here when he was eighteen and spent the rest of his life working in one of the factories. He died in our hospice," she shook her head, "Very sad indeed."

Nodding, I contemplated asking the woman if Giles had told her anything about the necklace when she spoke again, "I hear from your accent that you're from London, are you on holiday?"

"Yes, a friend and I are," I said with a grin, "how did you come to be living out here?"

She shrugged, "I moved here when I was a child of my father's job. After he passed away, Mother moved back home, but I stayed here, guess I'm more American than English."

I must have had a funny look on my face, unsure of what to say, because she laughed and stuck her hand out to me, "Jessica Parker, it's a pleasure to meet you."

"Alex Rider," I said, "it's nice to meet you as well."

"So tell me Alex," she said, motioning to a bench under the tree, "why are you visiting Mr. Giles grave?"

"I wanted to talk to him about his childhood. My grandfather was a friend…he recently passed away and I wanted to ask Mr. Giles about this story my grandfather used to tell me about him."

Jessica nodded, "The curse?"

I nodded energetically, "Yes, the curse! What do you know?"

"Not much," she admitted, "only that a cursed necklace his gangster father bought for his mother killed them both."

"Gangster?" I asked, confused.

Jessica bobbed her head, "Apparently, he was some sort of loan shark."

"But he never said anything else about the necklace?"

"Only that it was 'taken care of' along with the rest of his parent's estate after their death by some of his father's friends. He never saw a penny from it."

Before I could say anything else, there was the honk of a car horn and I turned to see Cammie waving desperately at me. "Is that your ride?" Jessica asked.

I nodded, standing, "Yes, it is. It was nice to meet you Miss Parker, but I've got to be going."

She smiled sagely, "Be careful Alex Rider, or at least get better at making up stories on demand. Yours was full of holes."

"No-" I started my denial.

Still smiling, she stood up and brushed off her skirt, "I don't need to know, it's none of my business. Just observing," she nodded towards the truck, "you'd better go, your friend looks very nervous."

With a nod and a wave, I jogged through the exit and hopped into the truck. Glancing in the rearview mirror, I saw her head out of the cemetery and head the opposite direction. I should have been worried that she was some sort of spy, but she'd had a chance to get the jump on me and hadn't used it.

"You okay?" I asked as Cammie as she put the truck in drive.

She nodded, "Is Mr. Giles dead?"

"Yep, but I talked to a nurse that knew him. Didn't get much."

Cam nodded again, watching the road as she merged into traffic heading for the highway.

Glancing in the rearview again, Jessica's blue dress was nowhere in sight. I shrugged to myself; whoever this Jessica Parker was she certainly had a talent for getting people to spill their guts.

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><p><strong>There, an interesting twist, yes? We'll talk about our next guest in the next chapter!<strong>

**Review please!**

**~Striker**


	15. An Interlude: Call Me Maybe?

**Hey guys. I'm not having a very good day, so I apologize if this is a crappy and short chapter. It would fit my current situation. Thanks to my readers and reviewers.**

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><p><strong>Cammie's POV:<strong>

**Road Trip Status Update:**

**Location: Heading towards Idaho Falls, Idaho**

**Time: 6 hours and 32 minutes from Baker City**

**Stop Number: 3/17**

**Radio: Not looking so good.**

"_And next up, we'll hear from that Canadian cutie Carly Rae Jepsen and her hit _Call Me Maybe_!"_

"Noo!" I groaned, slapping the radio off, "if I have to listen to that song again, **someone will die**."

Alex had the decency to look slightly afraid of me before closing his eyes and going back to sleep. It was two o'clock in the afternoon and we'd been on the road since ten. Yet we were still two and a half hours to get to Idaho Falls, Idaho, home of the great Kimberly A. Fantasia-Martin-O'Neill-James. Missus. She'd been married and divorced and remarried and widowed and remarried _four _times. I had this sinking feeling that this was going to be a giant mess.

Not that the other two interviews had been particularly helpful. Other than the rarity of the piece, there was no other reason for Tom Harris to want it. You'd think that he'd get enough money selling information to foreign powers. Sure, there's always the fact that he could be incredibly greedy, but this necklace doesn't seem like it's worth the hassle. There are a lot easier marks, ones that are worth just as much if not more and a lot easier to get rid of. And of course, one that aren't cursed. I was beginning to wonder if we had the whole picture.

At this moment, my cell phone rang. Reaching for it, I glanced at the caller id, **Liz**. Picking it up, I answered in Navajo. Yes, I spoke Navajo. It's an elective at Gallagher, one of our sisters, Dezba Nadim, was the one who suggested using her people's language during World War II, you know, the Navajo Code Talkers?

"_Hey, Bookworm, whatcha got?"_

She sighed, _"Why Navajo?"_

"_Because Alex's sitting next to me. Do you have something for me?"_

"_Yes and no. Good news or the bad news?"_

"_You know me, always the pessimist. Bad news."_

"_Well, it looks like someone has been tracking your progress."_

"What?!" I yelled/whispered in English. Alex twitched, but didn't open his eyes.

"_It looks like somebody pretty high up in the British government had you hacked."_

"_So they can hear what we're saying right now and they know where we are?" _I asked, glancing behind me.

"_No," _she said in her syrupy-sweet-little-kid-voice, _"I took care of it. Besides, I said they were tracking you. They only got through enough firewalls to follow you, but they didn't get any other information."_

"_Will they try and hack it again?"_

"_Probably. But they won't get through it," _she said proudly, _"I've got more dead ends, mirrors, viruses, and alarms than Gallagher does."_

"_Really?"_

"_Well, no. That was a slight exaggeration. But they won't get through again…speaking of Gallagher, have you talked to your mom?"_

"_Since I'm currently on the run from every covert agency in the world with a rogue MI6 agent, no. She knows I'm working on something. She's smart, she's probably figured out where I am by now."_

"_She's called her three times. I can only be 'in the shower' for so long."_

"_Just tell her that I'm okay, don't let her scare you;, she's not your head mistress anymore."_

"_Ha! Sure. You want to hear the good news?"_

"_Yeah, lay it on me."_

"_Well, I've been talking to our British contact-"_

"_Duchess?"_

"_Yep. She said that she's been hearing a lot of chatter surrounding the Black Devil and the Suspect-"_

"_Alex?"_

"_He needs a code name, but yes, him. Apparently, MI6 isn't one hundred percent convinced that this Tom Harris character is the guy they're after."_

"_Really," _I said slowly, _"that's very interesting. I've been wondering the same thing. There are things that just don't add up."_

"_I've also had a very interesting conversation with Peacock."_

"_Oh, do tell."_

"_She's going to be in Dallas for the rest of the summer. From what my map says, your route takes you right through there."_

"_That could be helpful. If you talk to her before me, tell her that we might just be seeing her. We're still a lonnggg way from Texas."_

"_Okie dokie, I'll tell her. Stay safe."_

"_Don't I always?"_

I hung up the phone and dropped it thoughtfully into the console. Liz's insight was very interesting. Before I could get much further in my thoughts Alex's voice broke through my concentration, "Who was that?"

"A friend."

"Does this friend have a name?"

"Yes."

"Going to share that with me?"

"Wasn't planning on it."

We sat in silence for a minute before Alex spoke again, "So, will you tell me what language were you speaking?"

"No."

"Why are you so secretive all of the sudden?"

I glanced at Alex and pointed to myself, "Spy."

He didn't really look impressed. Instead he puts on the radio…can you guess what was playing?

**_Hey, I just met you,_**

**_And this is crazy,_**

**_But here's my number,_**

**_So call me, maybe?_**

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><p><em><strong>This is sort of a filler. I have to work next week and have a sleepover tomorrow night. Yay. I'd ask you to guess about Kimberly Many-Last-Names, but I totally made that up.<strong>_

_**~Striker **_


	16. Mrs Kimberly James: Idaho Falls, ID

**I'm back quick 'cause the last chapter stank! And, in case you care, I **have** been to Idaho Falls!**

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><p><strong>Alex's POV:<strong>

Mrs. Kimberly A. Fantasia-Martin-O'Neill-James lived in a huge, gothic style mansion outside of the bustling city of Idaho Falls. It was dark and foreboding and had a lot of perfectly watered green grass. "Is this it?" I asked as Cammie cut the engine.

"Yep, pretty snazzy, huh?"

"Snazzy wasn't the word I was thinking of, but okay," I muttered to Cammie's back as we worked our way up the long, curving driveway.

She was knocking by the time I got to her and a honest-to-goodness ancient butler answered the door, "Yes?" he asked in a snooty upper class Bostonian accent. Or what I thought an upper class Bostonian accent sounded like.

"We're here to see Missus…James?" It came out as more of a question, but apparently it was the right one.

"May I ask who is calling?"

"Morgan Cameron and Xander Ride," Cammie cut in.

"Why do you wish to speak with Mrs. James?" the butler asked, looking sort of…well like he had before, the tone of his voice suggested that he didn't really want to let us in.

"We work for the _Gem Monthly,_" Cammie replied, "It's a fairly new jewelry magazine and this month's cover story is the Pietersen necklace that Mrs. James' family used to own."

"I will see if she is receiving visitors," was the reply before the door was unceremoniously slammed in our faces.

"Think he'll actually come back?" I asked in a low voice.

Cammie shrugged and the door reopened almost right away. Looking decidedly disgusted, the butler pulled the heavy wooden door back and beckoned us to enter, "Mrs. James will see you in the parlor."

We walked into a large, circular foyer that looked sort of like Halloween. The walls were swathed in a heavy, maroon fabric with a few creepy ancestral-looking portraits hung on the walls. The ceiling was painted navy blue with what looked like some sort of mural of the heavens. In the center of the room was a large, round, intricately carved black wooden table with a lone vase of 'flowers.' The flowers in question were delicate looking dried out, dead flowers. The only ones that I recognized were the blood red roses and I swore there was a spider web interwoven in the design. Oh, and did I mention the vase itself? Well, it was a skull. A human skull.

"This is creepy," I hissed to Cammie.

She grabbed my arm and squeezed hard, "Shut. Up."

We were now being lead across the scary circle to a set of closed dark wood doors. With a flourish, the butler pushed them both inwards, "Mrs. Kimberly Alexis Fantasia-Martin-O'Neill-James."

The parlor sort of looked like it had time traveled from the Victorian Era…with of course, a side of spooky. It had the long curtains, oversized antique furniture, huge, gaping fireplace, a sofa, settee, a couple of regal wingback chairs, and even a silver tea service. Of course, instead of being done in light, feminine florals, it was done in blacks, spider webs, and mystic themes.

At the center of the room sat a woman with long, died black hair wearing some sort of flowing robe, making it impossible to tell how tall or heavy she was. She had a pale, but majestic face and she sat with her chin up just like most royalty. "Please, sit," she said, motioning to the two wing chairs with a gravely voice.

We sat and the butler disappeared. "Tea?" she inquired.

"Yes," we replied at the same time.

She smiled serenely, then set to work. The delicate porcelain cups were decorated in what looked like bloody images from Greek Mythology. If I was correct, the cup that Cammie was currently accepting depicted an especially gory picture of the Keres, death sprits.

She handed me a cup with a Gorgon on it, another terrifying Greek female figure. "You told Alfredson that you wished to speak to me about the Pietersen piece that my family owned many years ago."

"Yes, that's right," Cammie said, pulling a small notebook out of her pocket. Flipping it open, she pretended to read the blank pages. "Our information says that a great-great-great aunt of yours owned the piece for two years from 1911 to 1913."

"You must have very good research tools, Miss…Cameron is it? Most people don't know that my family ever owned the piece."

"I'm quite the information gatherer, history is my passion," I cut in with a smile.

This seemed to satisfy Mrs. James. She nodded, taking a sip of her tea, "I don't know a lot about the whole affair. My great-great-great Aunt Kimberly, who I'm named for, was something of a hoarder. She kept the piece for two years, wore it once, and was killed in a car accident just hours later."

"Did she know of the curse on the piece?" Cammie asked.

"Curse? There's a _curse_?!" Mrs. James' teacup clattered to the saucer.

"Well, yes-" I began.

"A relative of mine was killed by a _curse?!" _Mrs. James' already pale face grew a shade paler.

"It's really nothing-"

"A curse, ohh!" She moaned loudly, then slumped back to the sofa, her cup clattering to the wood floor.

Immediately, the doors to the parlor were swung open and Alfredson the butler appeared followed by a huge, hulking guy in a tight three-piece suit.

"What is going on here?" The Hulk roared, "What did you of to my wife?!"

"Mr. James, we didn't do anything. We were interviewing her for a magazine article and when she found out about the curse-" Cammie began in her best diplomatic voice.

"You talked about a curse in my wife's presence? You insolent brats, don't you know anything about oracles?"

"Oracles?" I asked at the same time as Cammie said, "We didn't know that your wife was a-"

"I've heard enough! You two have severely upset my wife, by accident or design, I frankly don't care. Alfredson, show these people to the door!"

Then we were being hustled out of the place, with the door slamming so fast it nearly caught my left foot, "What was that?" Cammie asked as we headed back to the truck.

"Extremely weird?" I suggested as I hopped behind the steering wheel, "And what's an oracle?"

Cam nodded, "Yeah, very weird and we didn't get _anything_. And an oracle is a fancy name for a fortune teller. Bogus if you ask me."

I nodded, "Gotcha."

We drove for a second before Cammie spoke again, "What do you say we head to Kemmerer?"

"Where's that?" I asked as I turned out of the driveway.

"Wyoming. It's only like three and a half hours. We'll be there by seven thirty, eight at the latest. Not to late to go a callin'…right?"

She was smiling, even after the failure. You have to admire someone like that. And personally, I think that she knows I can't say no to The Smile. I sighed, thinking how much I had been looking forward to going right to bed, we did have work to do…for my benefit, I might add.

"Onward! Kemmerer, Wyoming, HERE WE COME!" We both let out a rousing whoop as we tore down Mrs. Kimberly Alexis Fantasia-Martin-O'Neill-James' street.

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><p><strong>There, better? Mrs. Kimberly wasn't much help, huh? Idaho Falls is a neat little town…and I must say I liked it better than Kemmerer when we visited there. Kemmerer is sort of a sad little town. <strong>

**Review please!**

**Striker**


	17. Mr Jonathan Hart: Kemmerer, WY

**So, I hear there's a local Kemmerer-er in the audience…**Guest, **I hope I don't offend you or anything…personally, I rather like Wyoming as a whole. And love to my other reviewers:**

soccergirl

sweetlysecret **(thanks for letting me know about the error!)**

Firebird

An Avid Reader Forever

**I love you all…my neighbor's pet zebra sounds a lot like a donkey. I smell a scam a foot! Any Taylor Swift fans out there? I'm listening to We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together right now! And Red, I rather like it!**

**Okay, on to Cam and Alex!**

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><p><strong>Cammie's POV:<strong>

Although we drove out of Idaho Falls with high spirits, the mood didn't last very long. As it turns out, Wyoming isn't a particularly…interesting state, aesthetically anyways. Alex was impressed for the first ten miles, but after the third time he got overly excited about an antelope and some sage brush, the novelty seemed to wear off and we settled into grouchy silence. Two hundred and one miles worth.

We reached Kemmerer in the early evening, around six, and rolling right through the dusty little town before we knew we had even entered it. "Wait, wait!" Alex said, pointing, "That sign just said we were _leaving _Kemmerer!"

Craning my neck around, the sign did indeed say that we'd driven right through Kemmerer. After performing a screeching U-turn (the one that got me a 99.43 % in my defensive driving course), we were back in the fair city of Kemmerer. Although he was looking a little bit green, Alex read off the address that we were heading to, which appeared to be in the downtown area…and I just the word 'downtown' in exaggeration.

Winding our way down the dusty streets, we stopped in front of a dead-looking front lawn that no one had bothered to water in several decades. "This is it," Alex said, "doesn't look to inviting."

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><p><strong>Alex's Understatements (So Far):<strong>

**When he called me at Gallagher: "**_**I need your help, Cammie. I've done something really stupid."**_

**After the first meeting with the goons, plus the gash: **_**"I'll be fine, just give me a second."**_

**Why does MI6 think you went rogue Alex?: **_**"It's a long story-"**_

**The reason behind the new belly button: **_**"To put it simply, somebody didn't like me taking the necklace back, but that's another long story." **_**Which is still unexplained…**

**Sneaking over the Mexican border: "**_**This has to be majorly illegal**_**."**

**His description of Marty: **_**"A friend." **_**Neglected to mention that he was certifiably insane.**

**How Marty abandoned us: "**_**Marty gave them to me before he…left**_**."**

**His opinion of Sadie Crawford: **_**"I rather liked her." **_**Ha.**

**His Assessment of Kimberly Many-Last-Names-That-Are-Hyphenated's house: **_**"This is creepy."**_

**And most recently, his assessment of our current location: **_**"Doesn't look to inviting."**_

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><p>Rolling my eyes, I hopped out of the truck (which fit in very well here), "Who are we looking for again?"<p>

"Jonathan Hart age….oh."

"What?" I demanded, stopping on the sidewalk, hands on hips.

"Age three."

"He's going to be _so_ helpful," I muttered, "You think his parents will be any help to us?"

Alex shrugged, "We can ask."

Stomping up the sidewalk, I skipped over the missing steps and pounded loudly on the front door. There was no answer, so I pounded again as Alex peeked into one of the windows, "I don't think anybody lives here Cammie, there's nothing bust dust in there."

Looking in the window myself, I had to agree with Alex, the house's only occupant was a dead looking mouse and a couple of ambitious spiders. "Awesome, another dead end! Marty seriously needs to work on his intelligence."

Before Alex could reply, a third voice called to us from the street, "Hey, you lookin' for somebody?"

Glancing towards the voice, I was surprised to see a girl a little older than me, twenty maybe, with a toddler on her hip standing with two tall guys that could have been twins. I straightened my shirt and smiled, "Yes, as a matter of fact, we are. A Mr. Jonathan Hart."

The girl's dark eyes got big as she glanced at the twin in blue, who answered my inquiry, "Nobody here by that name, you got the wrong address."

I nodded, heading back down the stairs towards them, Alex right behind me, "Oh…well, maybe you can help me find the right place."

The toddler let out a wail, and the girl instantly shushed him, "Jonny, hush baby-"

"Oh, Jonny? Short for Jonathan maybe?" I asked.

Knowing we had them cornered, the two twins (hereafter referred to as 'Blue' and 'Red'), stepped closer, looking menacing. I spoke again, "We just need to talk-"

"No, we don't," Blue growled.

"We need you to leave," Red finished.

"Look, we don't want any trouble; we're authors working on a book about the Pietersen piece-"

"We don't know anything about anything like that," the girl cut in, "You need to leave."

These people were acting really weird, and from all of their faces, they _really _didn't know what we were talking about. Maybe Marty's intelligence was wrong, which _still_ made this trip a waste.

Alex had been pretty quiet, but suddenly he gasped, "Shelia?!"

The girl's face paled, then hardened. The twins got even nastier looking…and Alex was blubbering.

"-The hair threw me, mousy brown fits in around here a lot better than purple would. The make-up and the clothes are different…but the eyes. You couldn't change the eyes."

Looking between the face of 'Sheila' and Alex, I tried to see what he was talking about. She looked like someone born and raised in small town. Her eyes were dark; almost black…before my thought train could get much further, Red and Blue were on top of Alex, each one yanking his arms behind his back, "Get out of here, Cam! It's her!" Alex yelled, fighting hard to get the two goons off him.

Too late, I remembered just who Shelia was. The girl Alex had tracked down in Mexico to retrieve the Pietersen necklace. I took a step towards the duo, with my back to Shelia, when a loud _pop _rang out and pain shot down my arm. The blood was making me slightly sick, but I managed to get a good kick in, sending Red down, before the warm metal barrel of the gun was pressed against my neck and Shelia's now British accent was in my ears, "Get up or you both die."

Red, who was now standing, had a small caliber pistol pointed right at Alex's heart. Alex's face was emotionless, but the tight set of his jaw told me all I needed to know. I slowly stood, glancing around for the toddler…who was nowhere in sight.

Taking a deep breath, I dove backwards, driving my elbow into Shelia's gut. In the split second between the two of us tumbling to the ground, there was a shout and the sound of another gun shot. I looked up from pummeling Sheila just in time to see Alex collapse to the ground, dark red blood staining his shirt.

"No- Alex!" I screamed, ignoring the pain in my own arm, scrambling towards him.

Before I made it very far, a hand grasped a handful of my hair, yanking it, and me, back painfully. Shelia's voice wormed its way through the haze of pain and panic, "I don't like it when people don't listen to me, Cameron. You disobeyed a direct order…now it's time to pay the price."

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><p><strong>Enjoy that cliffy? <strong>

**So, I should warn you, I had this whole trip of Cam and Alex's all planned out on GoogleMaps and proceeded to lose it. SO, we will be doing a little remembering…and changing things up a bit!**

**Oh, and can you guess about Jonathan Hart? This one is easy…and if it helps, I'm a big NCIS fan and he has made 4 appearances to date! ;]**

**Review, I look forward to hearing from you!**

**~Striker **


	18. Mount Rushmore!

**Love to all!**

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><p><strong>Alex's POV:<strong>

Groaning softly as I opened my eyes to pitch blackness, I wondered for a fleeting moment if I was dead. But as I tested my various appendages to see if they were functioning, the throbbing that resulted from said movement reassured me that I was very much alive.

Pulling myself up into a sitting position, I squinted in a valiant attempt to see through the dark. I couldn't see anything, surprising, I know, but feeling around, my hands had plenty to tell me. The metal beneath me was cool, but not smooth. Moving my hands, the metal began to slope upwards, we were in the bed of a pickup truck, I figured out with a grin. _We! _

"Cam?" I hissed, feeling around the bed of the truck for her, I brushed something that felt like an arm. Shaking it, there was a moan and before I could move, Cam had me pinned down.

"Don't move if you value your life," she hissed.

"Cam, get off," I said, which wasn't easy when her knee was digging into my chest, "It's me, Alex!"

"Alex…?" she thought for a second, then apparently remembered who I was.

"Oh, sorry. Wait! You got shot!"

This was news to me, "I did?"

"Yeah, I saw...all the blood, the gunshot-"

Felling around for a bullet wound, I shrugged into the darkness, "Well, the only thing that hurts right now is my nose…I think it's broken or something."

Suddenly, there was a flash of light that temporarily blinded me, "Watch your eyes."

I moaned, "Thanks for the warning, Cam."

She started to shrug, then gasped, cursing under her breath in at least seven languages. "Cam, Cam! What's wrong?" I demanded, moving closer.

She pointed to her shoulder, still cursing loudly. There was an angry gash, about three inches long, across the top of her. It was clotted with dry blood, but the skin around it looked very swollen and red. "It looks like you were the one who got shot…although this is only a flesh wound."

Cammie nodded…then shook her head, "No, I saw you get shot. And congrats on the double back eyes, but the way, I think your nose is broken. But the good news is it still looks pretty straight. "

Then something clicked. In my mind that is. I remembered everything that went down at the house in Kemmerer. "One of those goons hit me, and I think I blacked out. All the blood was probably from my nose!"

"And I didn't actually see you get shot," Cammie finished thoughtfully, "I just heard the shot."

"Then someone must have hit you...and drugged us."

"Then we ended up here," Cammie finished with a nod.

"But where's here?"

"A question for the ages."

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><p>Using Cam's phone as a light, we were able to figure out that we were in some sort of metal pole building. A very empty pole building. The floor was smooth concrete and I could see a small man door next to the single garage door and other than the truck, the place was empty.<p>

"South Dakota."

"Huh?" I asked, looking back at Cammie.

"We're in South Dakota," she said triumphantly holding up her phone, "In fact; we should be just behind Mount Rushmore."

"What _are_ you talking about?" None of these names were very familiar to me…musta been some sort of drug they used.

"The rock with the faces? Washington, Jefferson, Teddy Roosevelt, and Lincoln?"

I had to think for a second, but then it clicked, "Oh, that. Awesome. So we're out in the middle of a National Park in the middle of the night. Is there a plus side to this situation?"

She nodded, heading back towards the truck. Pulling it open, she started to reach for her bag, but stopped suddenly, "Hey, look at this."

She held a piece of paper up to me, and I eagerly grabbed at it. It read something like this:

_**Alex-**_

_**Congratulations on tracking us down, quite the feat. Too bad you lost us again. Please tell that darling Tom that if he had a single neuron of brains in that thick skull of his, he'd leave me alone. **_

_**~Shelia**_

_**P.S. Heard you were rogue, wanted for selling info to the Black Devil, huh? Well, I'd leave the truck and beat if pretty quick if I were you; the cops'll be there any minute. And by the way, Tom may be a devil, but he's not a German one.**_

"So Tom _isn't _the Black Devil," I concluded catching the bag Cammie threw at me with one hand, "I wonder why he's really after Shelia."

"Let's go somewhere we can talk, and I don't think this is it," Cammie replied, glancing around the building.

"Are we leaving the truck?"

"Time for a new one anyways, hurry up, let's get out of here?"

"What about your arm?" I asked, noticing that it was again seeping blood.

Heading towards the door, she didn't even bother to glance over her shoulder, "Later."

Ignoring any more of my protests, she carefully opened the door and together we slipped out of it and into the night. "Where are we going?" I hissed.

"Mount Rushmore," was the reply.

"I don't think that now is the time for sightseeing," I muttered at her back as she disappeared around the edge of the dark building. She ignored my protests, of course.

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><p>An hour later, we were hiking up the approximately a thousand steps at the back of the monument that are used for regular maintenance. And I was only slightly exaggerating when I said a thousand. "Are we to the top yet?" I panted.<p>

"Half-way there," Cam replied, also slightly out of breath…a fact which I found to be highly gratifying.

"Only half?"

"Only half," Cammie echoed, "shut up and save your breath for climbing."

"Yes, s-ma'am."

And so we climbed.

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><p>Sunrise from the top of Mount Rushmore is breathtaking; orange, red, blue, and purple streak across the clouds and the sky towards the sun. I could have stood there for hours, just drunk on the pure beauty of it. Being hunted and nearly getting killed on several occasions tends to make a person really appreciate the little things in life.<p>

"Let's go, before anybody get here and sees us," Cam called.

"Where are we going to go?" I asked, glancing around, "It's pretty barren up here."

That's when I saw the climbing gear. Tossing me a harness, Cammie just smiled that infuriating smile of hers, "We have a date with good ol'e George Washington."

Hooking the end of our ropes to one of the drilled in hooks, Cammie went backwards over the cliff like she'd been doing it her entire life…which come to think of it, she probably had. Following her moves, albeit less gracefully, we bounced down George's forehead, over his eye brow, and carefully down the bridge of his nose. That's all we needed to do, break his nose off. Then, Cammie put her hand on some sort of blended in sensor in the corner of George's eye, which beeped and whirled. Looking over, I gaped in awe as George's pupil disappeared to reveal a small, round door.

Swinging inside, Cam unhooked her belt, yanking hard on the rope while twisting a knob which brought the whole rope back to her. Which didn't raise my confidence in this rope system…and where had she gotten it anyway?

"Coming?" she called.

Swinging over, I tumbled into the doorway, laying in a dazed mess while Cammie undid the rope. Tapping in some numbers on a key pad, the pupil slammed shut and we were inside of a cavernous room filled with just about kind of computer system imaginable. Huge, blinking screens lined the walls, printers rumbled and the sound of typing buzzed like honey bees in a hive. Three dozen diligently working heads didn't even look up at our entrance.

"What _is _this place?" I hissed.

"Welcome!" A voice boomed above us. Craning my neck, I could just see a figure jogging down a catwalk to a ladder.

"Who's that?" I demanded.

"This is the S Force headquarters…it's kind of like the awkward love child of the CIA, DOD, FBI, and the rest of the federal government, they play by their own rules and report to no one. We should be safe here for the time being."

Out of nowhere, the figure we had seen on the catwalk appeared, "Good to see you Chameleon, been too long."

The voice belonged to a girl around twenty years old. She had long blondish-brown hair loose in a wild mess, green eyes, and black square framed glasses. She was dressed like someone who worked in an office building, not someone who had to repel to work.

"Right as always, Striker. We need to meet in Rio for coffee with the rest of the gang, that was fun."

Giggling, 'Striker' nodded, "Totally…oh, whose this?"

"I'm Al-" I began.

"NO NAMES!" Striker shouted a little louder than necessary, causing several of the busy heads to glance up at us.

"The Brit," Cammie cut in, "He's with me."

Striker, who was now eyeing me with distrust, nodded, "Alright. What'd need, C?"

"Is there somewhere we can talk?" Cam asked, glancing around.

"My office is this way," she turned and headed back the way she had come. When I started to follow, she frowned, "You go with Clover," she motioned a skinny, short girl around her age with thick brown hair who had appeared out of nowhere, "you need all your clearances. We'll be back in an hour."

Without another word from either of them, they disappeared into the whirlwind of activity and I was dragged away by Clover's surprisingly strong grip. And that, my friends, is how I came to be hanging out inside of the first President of the United State's left eye ball.

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><p><strong>LOL, I think I just wrote myself into the story…Review please!<strong>

**~S**


	19. The S Force and Mr Mike Landon

**No one got Jonathan Hart. From **_**Hart to Hart**_** played by one of my favorite actors Robert Wagner? Ring any bells? NO? Oh well…thanks to my readers and reviewers anyways:**

Guest

An Avid Reader Forever

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><p><strong>Cammie's POV:<strong>

The one sentence that I'd used to describe the S Force to Alex really doesn't begin to cover it; I did _not_ give him the whole story. What I told him was true, the S Force was the brain child of some of the biggest names in our government and they don't take orders from anyone…well, not anymore at least. I didn't tell him how the S Force had fallen out of grace.

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><p><strong>The S Force: The Back Story By Operative Cameron Morgan, 'Chameleon' <strong>

**The 1960s brought a new wave of feminist movements to the United States. One of these women who were fighting for equality was a young Midwestern famer's daughter. Temperance Walker came from an old fashioned, religious, straight lace, Marry-Up-Settle-Down-Raise-the-Babies-Dinner-On-the-Table-Promtly-At-Six kind of family. And Temper, as she was better known, a hippy, flower child with a wild side and brains to match, was not about to be sucked into that vortex. It was the '60s, women were fighting for their working rights, fighting for freedom, fighting for the betterment of their sex. **

**She left her house in rural Illinois late one summer night and never looked back. She moved to Washington D.C. where she took place in as many rallies for rights as she could fit into the twenty-four hours in the day. **

**She first came on to the government's radar in early 1961 after she was arrested for allegedly 'assaulting a federal officer.' It was true that she had shoved the man down, but she had a good reason. This federal officer was one of the dozens walking with some of the Supreme Court Justices from their offices down to the main court room, or so it seemed. Turns out that this guy was an assassin hired to take out one of the justices in the confusion of the mob. He had just pulled out his weapon of choice, a long thin ice-pick-like blade and had it moving towards the back of Chief Justice Earl Warren when Temper spotted him and put two and two together. She stopped a history-changing event that day. **

**The government knew of course what had happened, but for publicity's sake, the real details were never released. Temper was whisked away to a secret federal prison, and no, it wasn't her first night in prison. There had been that little incident back in Illinois, the sit in on the Capital steps that landed her and a few dozen more women in jail for the night of September 3****rd**** of 1960 (well actually, there were three incidents like that), and of course the whole chain-and-the-White-House-Fence issue. But those nights in jail were fun, singing songs, laughing, making a good time of it just to thumb their noses at the system. The night in the Federal Prison was spent in an interrogation room and then in a cold, stark cell. **

**While she sat in an interrogation room alone, three men from different branches of the government (with names that remain classified) made a decision. The Secret Surveillance of Society Force, the S Force, had been planned, staffed, and was almost ready to hit the streets so to speak, but they lacked something. They were looking for a woman, surprising considering the era, a smart woman completely indebted into the woman's rites cause, someone they could use to get inside of this cause without causing too much of a ruckus. And what better way to get into a cause than to get to someone already inside?**

**Unfortunately for these nameless men, they decided that Temper Walker would be the perfect candidate for this spot. Sure, she pretended to fall for their lines, how they were surveying the population for their own safety, but she knew better. **

**Suffice to say, it didn't take Temper very long to help the rest of her coworkers the wrongs that the government was doing. They made their threat in 1962; they would either go to the American public with all of the information they had of the underhandedness of the government or they left the government in peace if the government left them in peace. **

**And so the New S Force, the Service for a Safer Society Force was born. And the leadership has stayed in Temper's family. She met and married Jack Davison in 1969 and eventually had two kids. Of course, she worked full time at the S Force's headquarters until her daughter Benevolence, Ben, took over in the early 1990s. Again, time passed and Ben, who was better known by her code name of Willow, had a daughter of her own, Charity, code name Striker who took over in 2012.**

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><p>While one of Striker's medic teams looked at my arm, I filled her in on what had happened so far. Everything. Striker may not have been a Gallagher Alum, she grew up in a normal household in Kansas when the S Force HQ was located there, she'd proved herself to be a good friend on more than one mission. Plus, The S Force sort of acts like a private detective agency with government access, and private was the operative word here. Like I said, Striker was bright, with the kind of street smarts that people in our business sometimes forget. She wasn't a spy, by no means, 'cause right now I could nearly read her thoughts.<p>

Her green eyes were saying that she thought I was crazy, but she turned to her giant computer system that took up most of her desk without a word to the contrary. Pushing aside a computer game, a half-eaten banana, a dozen broken pencils, a cell phone without a battery, and a half assembled Beretta, she pounded on her keyboard, "So this Jonathan Hart was just a baby?"

I nodded, winching as the medic scrubbed away at my bullet wound, "He was three."

Frowning, she typed some more, then turned the monitor to face me, "This him?"

The picture was of the little boy we had seen, bright blue eyes, shaggy brown hair, big baby smile. He was sitting on the girl Alex had known as Shelia's lap, with the two twins flanking her. Sitting next to her with one of Jonathan's chubby baby hands in his own was a guy that looked like an older version of Tom, with the same lean frame and lopsided grin. I leaned closer to examine the picture, "That's the kid…and we met the twin ogres in the back, as well as the girl…but I don't know the other guy."

Striker nodded, making an _ummhumm _sound before returning to her typing. In case you haven't guessed, Striker isn't very talkative. As she was typing, there was a knock on the door and the agent she introduced as Clover stuck her head in, "We're done with the Brit. Where do you want him?"

Glancing at my watch, I was surprised to see almost an hour and a half had passed. Striker replied without looking up, "Send him in here…oh, and send Ozzy."

With a brisk nod, Clover disappeared. A few minutes later, the door opened and Alex was herded in along with a lanky man in his twenties with short red head. Motioning to the seats next to mine with one hand and waving away the medic team with the other, Striker waited until everyone was settled and the room was draped in silence aside from the buzzing on the other side of the door, "Ozzy, meet one of our friends, Chameleon and one of the Queen's friend The Brit. Chameleon and Brit, meet Ozzy."

After a round of hand shaking, Striker spoke again, "Well, I've read the list of names that you brought here with you," she said addressing us, "and although it goes against our strict No-Names policy for me to reveal this, it appears that Ozzy, Mike Landon, is one of the people you were going to see."

Alex and I exchanged a glance, before looking at Ozzy again. He just shrugged, "What did I do now?"

"It's what your great grandparents, Silvia and Mark Landon, did. They owned a necklace in 1914 that's evidence in a case that these two are working on," Striker supplemented.

Ozzy nodded, "Ah, the cursed necklace. Yes, one of my favorite bedtime stories."

"Do tell," Striker commanded.

"Well, it seems that dear Great Grandpa was something of a cat burglar back in the day. He'd been married to my great grandmother for only a short time, and for their six-month anniversary, he wanted something impressive. He had a friend who knew this old lady who had died and there was a whole case of jewelry that was going to be sold off. He broke into the estate, 'bought it' and was killed before he ever got it home. Apparently, he got caught on the train tracks, trying to beat a train, I suppose. My great grandmother was about two months pregnant at the time, and she didn't sell the necklace until she needed the money in 1917. And no, she never wore the piece."

Glancing at Alex, I could see that he also caught on that not all of the details were consistent with the other stories we had heard. After Ozzy was dismissed, I told that to Striker. She shrugged, "History is written by the winner. Details get lost. The story sounded pretty solid to me."

Alex, who had been pretty quite this whole time grunted in frustration, "This is getting us nowhere. Maybe this whole thing is a wild goose chase…it might be better if I just turn myself in to MI6."

Striker shook her head, "I wouldn't, not until you have some sort of evidence towards clearing yourself. Their getting a little desperate to plug their leak, a fall guy would come in handy right about now."

We sat, contemplating the situation, when I had an idea, "Alex, do you know if Tom has a brother?"

Alex nodded, searching my face for something, "Yeah, an older brother named Jerry. Why do you ask?"

Striker was following my thought train, turning the monitor around for Alex to take a good look at the same picture I had seen earlier. He let out a gasp, "That's Jerry! And Shelia! And Jonathan and the twins!"

It was finally starting to make sense now.

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><p><strong>Okay guys! How was that? I just want to warn you, it may be a few days until my next update. I start school next Wednesday ;( and I want to finish my other story, just three more chapters. However, I'm heading to the county fair on Monday, then a sleepover, and a whole mess of trail riding planned for the weekend. After school starts, updates will be scattered…I apologize in advance. My ultimate goal is one more update on this before the end of the summer and to be done with it by New Years.<strong>

**Okay, review please!**

**Striker**

**P.S. Who's Michael Landon? He's an actor…. ;]**


	20. The John Deere Mob

**So. As you may have noticed, I did not get this updated before summer ended. I hope you don't hate me. Seriously, I've already had my first test of the year! Love to my readers and reviewers:**

soccergirl

An Avid Reader Forever

**I really love all you! More than my laptop! And trust me, that's really sayin' something.**

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><p><strong>Alex's POV:<strong>

The looked that passed across Cammie's face was one that I knew well…and sort of feared. It was the revelation face, the something-just-clicked face, "Cammie…?"

"No names!" Striker shouted. Seriously, that chick was slightly high strung; especially the only people in the room beside herself were Cammie and I.

Cammie ignored her, "What if Tom _isn't _the Black Devil?"

"And Jerry is?"

Cammie shook her head, and that Striker character cut in, "Personally, from what Chameleon has told that sounds like a familial dispute to me. The girl and her brothers, those twins, left with the kid. Tom was trying to track them down for his brother. The brother, he has some sort of problem, drugs, alcohol, or is it gambling?"

"Adrenaline junkie," I muttered absently to Striker. To Cammie, I said, "So if Tom _isn't _the Black Devil, then who is? And how did Tom get mixed up with him? And what does the necklace had to do with anything?"

Cammie shrugged, "Maybe his brother had something to do with the theft, maybe Tom was in the right place at the wrong time, I don't know. Yet," she turned to Striker, "And that's where you come in."

"Moi?" Striker asked, looking up innocently from her computer screen.

"You," Cammie confirmed, "If any group of people could figure out at least a portion of what's going on, without involving the feds, it's the S Force."

Striker furrowed her brow for a moment before speaking, "Yes…but you know the policy."

"What policy?" I piped up.

Striker and Cam looked at me like they'd forgotten I was there. "We work for you, you work for us," Striker replied.

"What kind of work?" I wanted to know.

Striker smiled slowly, "I think I have the perfect job for you two. You can even start today while we start working on this little situation here."

"What job?" Cammie asked.

"I hope it won't offend your delicate sensibilities," Striker said, "but the S Force is currently doing some…management surveys for a group of individuals from the East Coast-"

Cammie covered her eyes with her hand, "Oh no, not the Mob. Again Striker? Didn't you learn your lesson last time-"

Striker held up her hand, "I said _management surveys_. Not enforcement or eviction," she rubbed a small scare just above her right eyebrow, "I definitely will _not_ be doing that again. All you gotta do is head down to Kansas and look into the management of their branch down there."

"There's mob presence in Kansas?" I asked, "I thought it was all farms."

Striker looked at me with wide green eyes like I was clearly a little bit slow, "Of course the mob is down there. Mobsters are famers, too you know."

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><p>Four hours later, Cam and I found ourselves bumping down a landing strip in an S Force plane somewhere in rural Kansas. As far as the eyes could see, farms stretched out, patches of green and gold alternating on the flat land.<p>

"This doesn't seem like mob territory," I muttered again after we had left the plane in the hanger and picked up Jeep the S Force had arranged for us to drive while we were down here.

Cammie shrugged, pulling a file folder out of her bag, "It's the John Deere Mob."

"You have to be joking," I said, glancing over at Cam as I put the vehicle into drive. Her face was serious. "What would the mob want with farms?"

"Control of food production could be very important," was her explanation, "besides, the mob isn't all Italian and they don't wear expensive suits or have stupid babes concrete vests," she shook her head, "it's nothing like the good old days."

Insert awkward pause.

"Where'd that come from?" I finally asked.

Cammie shook herself, "Wow. Massive flashback to the seventh grade, semester two. Miss Capano age eighty-three, Organized Crime 1. She was very passionate about the old days of the family business. She basically brain washed us all; seriously, I dare you to find a Gallagher Girl that doesn't think that the mob has gone down the drain."

"Okay…and that didn't bother any of the adults?"

She shrugged, "Not really. She knew everything there was to know about any kind of organized crime; the stories of the old days were just a bonus.

I shook my head. I would never understand this girl. She smiled fondly, "I remember this one story she used to tell all of time, how she met Al Capone when she was thirteen, right after he got out of jail…"

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><p>The directions in the file that Striker had given us lead us to a small feed store on the outskirts of White Rock, population 2,437. It was a dusty little town just off highway 14. A couple of stores, a post office, a diner, and the town hall lined Main Street and I'd yet to see any sort of vehicle that wasn't a truckclunker SUV/Jeep. We rounded the corner to see a square white building with 'L&E Supply' written across the front in plain black lettering, "A feed store?" I wondered aloud as we parked.

"A feed store," Cammie confirmed, "Let's go look around, huh?" She hopped out and took a couple of steps towards the door when there was a shout from behind the feed building. Locking eyes for a second, Cam motioned around to one side of the building. Nodding, I quietly jogged around one side while Cammie went around to the other.

From the large garage doors and ramps, I assumed that it was some sort of unloading dock. However, it was the fight going on in the center of the yard that caught my attention. Four or five guys around my age had two other guys pinned. And it looked like they were getting ready to do something nasty.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a figure dart out from behind the other side of the building. Cammie, the world's resident do-gooder. I cursed out loud as she jumped on the biggest of the guys there.

We never just 'looked.' I tried to convince myself to be annoyed as I sprinted to join in the tangle of flailing arms and legs, but I couldn't. I hate to admit it, but the adrenaline racing through my veins wasn't fear-induced. I was excited; I _liked _fighting side by side with Cam. Just before I dove into the pack, I mentally slapped myself, _the things I do for that girl._

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><p><strong>A little Calex for all you fans out there. Please review lovies! Hopefully another chapter this weekend!<strong>

**Love,**

**Striker **


	21. The John Deere Mob, Retake

**I'm back for a short little update! Don't hate it 'cuz it's short. Thanks to my readers and reviewers:**

thunder2010

djrocks

An Avid Reader Forever

sweetly-secret

**Love to all!**

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><p><strong>Cammie's POV: <strong>

**Steps to Ensuring a Win In a Fight Where You Are Outnumbered and Outsized**

**By Cameron Morgan**

**Step 1: Use the element of surprise to your advantage. **

**Step 2: Always start with the biggest of the goons when using Step 1.**

**Step 3: Run fast. **

**Step 4: Hit Harder.**

**Step 5: Don't show fear.**

**Step 6: Use the lack of your size to your advantage.**

**Step 7: Bob and weave when using Step 6.**

**Step 8: Fake high, hit low.**

**Step 9: Be noisy. Noise = Distraction.**

**Step 10: Don't be afraid to fight dirty.**

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><p>As I pulled back on the biggest goon's mass of greasy hair, I saw Alex launch himself at one of the ones who had his meaty hands around my ankle. Almost immediately, the pressure subsided and I was free to take care of the big guy. No, I didn't kill him, but I made darn sure that he would be bothering me for a long time.<p>

Spinning around, I choked back a gasp of surprise at the two-by-four swinging at my head (where'd it come from anyway?), and dove for the guy's waist, faking a left hook and going for a direct hit. Wailing like a banshee, I kicked another in the head.

The score was three down, two to go. Alex seemed to have a handle on Goon 4, so I sprinted after Goon 5, who thought he was going to just get away with beating up two kids. Silly man.

Executing a double handstand ending in roundhouse kick that would have kicked some serious gymnast butt at the Olympics, I momentarily knocked the wind out him. But a moment was all I needed. Reaching out, I grabbed his throat and squeezed just long enough that he would black out.

There was a shout from behind me and I spun around just in time to see a panting Alex leave Goon 4 face first in the dirt. Grinning, I glanced around for the two kids I'd seen just a few moments ago.

They were gone.

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><p>"Great," Alex muttered, pressing a cold water bottle to his eye with one hand while the other rested on his wound from Mexico, "I bet we really pissed off the Mob now."<p>

"Well, we know that they have some management issues," I argued, pressing a Diet Pepsi bottle against my forehead.

"That could have been a couple of the local teens," Alex replied. We were parked down the street in the shade of the only tree I'd seen in this whole town, watching the closed feed store. I'd lost track of the days, but apparently it was Sunday.

"You can't think those guys were in high school! That one had arms the size of my torso!"

"You're pretty skinny," Alex said doubtfully. I glared at him, but he refused to meet my gaze. We stewed for a moment before he spoke again, "So…now what?"

"Now we wait."

"Very dramatic. What are we waiting for? When those guy's wake up, they're not going to be in a very pleasant mood. Can't we just report back to Striker that there is indeed a need for a little management updating and get out of this town?"

"We are waiting to see where the goons go or who they call. Then we find those kids, get their stories, and _then _we might be able to head back to South Dakota."

"You got a _glimpse _of these so called 'kids' that the goons were beating up, how do you know that they weren't just short men that actually needed to be beaten up?"

What does a person say to that?

* * *

><p><strong>Sunday Afternoon in a Tiny Town: What We Saw<strong>

**A List by Cameron Morgan and Alex Rider**

**Old Men (in a pack): 4**

**Old Women (also in a pack): 5**

**Middle Aged Men: 1**

**Middle Aged Women: 2**

**Children (in a mixed, rowdy pack on bicycles): 8 **

**Teens (a kissing-as-they-walked couple): 2 **

**Cows: 4 (stampede?)**

**Black birds: 14**

**Dogs: 3 (not in a pack)**

**Cats: 1 (orange)**

**Goons: 0**

**Other Miscellaneous Gangsters: 0**

* * *

><p>"I'm loosing my mind," Alex moaned, "I thought that crow had three heads. Definitely time to go home."<p>

"We haven't seen anything, therefore we can't leave."

* * *

><p><strong>Sunday Night in a Tiny Town: What We Saw<strong>

**A List by Cameron Morgan and Alex Rider**

**Old Men (in a pack): 2**

**Old Women (also in a pack): 3**

**Middle Aged Men: 0**

**Middle Aged Women: 1**

**Children (in a mixed, rowdy pack on bicycles with water guns): 4 **

**Teens (a fighting couple): 2 **

**Cows: 0**

**Black birds: 9**

**Dogs: 4 (in a pack, +1 harassed looking dog walker)**

**Cats: 3 (black and white and orange)**

**Goons: still 0**

**Other Miscellaneous Gangsters: still 0**

* * *

><p>It was close to midnight when I finally had to admit defeat, "All right, let's go back to the plane," I muttered.<p>

"Are we flying back to the S Force HQ?" he asked hopefully.

I shook my head, "No, we're going to sleep there. Then tomorrow we are going to come back here."

"Sleep on the plane?"

I held up my phone, "No vacancies at the _only _hotel in town. We sleep on the plane."

"Awesome," Alex grumbled, starting the engine.

"Nobody moves, nobody dies," a voice rasped behind us and I felt a cold circle pressed against my skull. I froze, so did Alex. "Now you are going to listen very closely if you ever wish to see the sun rise again."

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><p><strong>Cliffy!<strong>

**I'm not so happy with this chapter, but I like the lists!**

**Love, **

**Striker **


	22. Kidnapping, Corn and Bombs

**Hey guys! I've been uber busy, but I'm back now! THREE Days 'til NCIS! Anybody else totally psyched?! I'm like BOUNCING OFF THE WALLS! AHH! TIVAAA! SO MUCH EXCITEMENT I CAN'T TAKE IT! **

**Okay, I'm done now. **

**Thanks to my readers/reviewers! :]**

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><p><strong>Alex's POV:<strong>

"Why is it that I always get kidnapped by some sort of organized crime syndicate when I'm with you?" I asked Cammie as we bounced around the back of a dark colored pickup truck down an unpaved road.

"When was the last time we were kidnapped by an organized crime syndicate?"

"Harbin and the Triad ring any bells?"

I was referring to Cammie's own international road trip two winters ago. The Triad is basically Chinese mafia and Harbin is a city in China. Anything else you want to know is classified, but I suppose that if you're reading this, then you have clearance. Go back and re-read…I think its chapters twenty-seven through twenty-nine.

But I digress. Although it was getting dark, I could see Cammie's face, and yes, she was glaring at me. Before she could say anything else, we went around a wide turn and we both slammed into the side of the truck.

Cursing loudly, Cammie pulled herself up to look over the side, "Someone needs to learn how to drive!" she shouted to the closed driver's side window.

Not that anybody bothered to answer. We'd been bouncing around the back of this truck for nearly an hour since we'd been kidnapped in front of the feed store. We'd been directed to climb into the bed of an idling truck bed, hand cuff each other to a handy-dandy bar across the back of the bed. Once we were securely locked in, the truck pealed out and we were left to fend for ourselves. Bouncing back and forth, I was going to be black and blue for good.

"What do you think is going to happen to us?" I asked in a low voice.

Cammie shrugged, "We get shot or we get dumped in the foundation in a new building somewhere out in the boonies. Either way, they don't find our bodies."

"Thanks for that insight. You aren't giving up, are you?"

"Of course not, I have a plan."

"What kind of plan?" I asked as the truck slowed to a stop in front of a well-lit ranch style house.

The light from the windows mixed with the night shadows on her face, but I could see the wide grin across her pretty face. "A dangerous one."

* * *

><p>Cammie finished explaining her plan and I stared open-mouthed at her for a good five minutes, "That's actually insane. Why don't we just see what they want first?"<p>

"And why would that be even marginally intelligent?"

"Because this could all be some sort of crazy mix up. Maybe this is the welcoming committee."

"You really think a welcoming committee would kidnap two people then handcuff them in the bed of a pickup truck?"

"No."

"I didn't think so either."

* * *

><p>Cammie's plan basically involved turning lip-gloss, chewed gum, a half a matchstick, two hair things (hairbands, hair ties?), four bobby pins, lint, and a bunch of garbage into a bomb. Seriously, that chick is like the female MacGyver…and yes, this did remind me of our time crossing the English Cannel, but that was Chap Stick.<p>

After unlocking our hands, we emptied our pockets, and Cam picked through to grab what she needed. Straightening the bobby pins, she used them to poke holes in the lip-gloss, and then stuck them about half way in so they were sticking out like four spider legs. Next, she yanked the hair ties until they snapped then tied two of the hair ties to the bobby pins, making an 'x' across the tube.

Setting that little contraption aside, we pulled as much garbage (it was gross how much was bouncing around the bed of this truck) as we could with our feet over to us. Stacking it in a little pile, we placed the lip-gloss on top, the gum on that, the lint around that, and finally Cam held up the match.

"We're not going to have a lot of time; this thing goes off in under two minutes. Plus, they'll probably see the light right away, so be prepared to jump out the back and run like the wind and don't stop for anything. I'll be right behind you."

Nodding, I watched as she carefully struck the match, hiding the flame as long as she could before dropping it on the 'bomb.' Almost immediately, the flame jumped up to a bright orange flare.

There was a muted shout from inside of the darkened cab, but I didn't hang around to see what they were saying. Vaulting over the side of the truck, I rolled myself into a ball as I bounced hard against the shoulder of the road then rolled down a short, grassy embankment.

The embankment ended at a cornfield and I threw myself into the corn stalks just as the bomb exploded behind me, knocking me to my knees. Picking myself up, I glanced behind me, searching for Cammie. All I could see behind the smoke from the fire was three figures moving around the truck, _Cammie must be ahead of me._

Suddenly, there was the sound of feet crashing through the corn ahead of me and I lit off after it. There was shouting behind me, followed by more crunching and shouting. Picking up my speed, I sprinted through the cornfield, tripping and falling a dozen times before the figure a head of me came into view.

Right away, I knew something was wrong. The figure was barely standing, walking hunched over like he or she might topple over at any second. The size was the other issue; this person was a good foot shorter than Cammie.

_My_ foot must have crunched particularly loud, because the figure's head swiveled around for a brief second before it was off and running again. I broke out of the cornfield just in time to see the little figure tumble to the ground and lay still.

I slowly approached the prone figure, gasping in shock when I got a better look. The person I'd been chasing was a little girl, eight or maybe nine years old with short blonde hair, ratty shorts, a dirty t-shirt, and a sad-looking doll clutched in her left hand.

Her face was streaked with tears and her eyes squeezed tightly shut. I squatted down next to her and whispered, "I won't hurt you, are you alright?"

One eye slowly opened, then the other. She sniffled, "You talk funny."

I smiled, "I suppose I do. Are you okay?"

Sitting up, she nodded, "Yeah, just tired. You run fast."

"What are you doing out here so late?" I asked.

"We was playing flashlight tag. Me and Marcy hid in the cornfield 'cause nobody ever looks there."

"Marcy?"

She held up the tattered doll, "Marcy," she confirmed.

There was a distance shout behind us, which pushed me back in action, "What's your name, sweetie?"

"Alyssa Mary Bryan, but most people call me Lyssa."

"Is your house near by, Lyssa?" I asked, helping her up.

She nodded and pointed westward, "Just over there."

"How about I walk you and Marcy home, okay? You can ride piggy-back style."

Lyssa nodded, "So the bad guys won't get us."

There was another shout behind us and Lyssa fairly climbed my legs, "Let's go!"

Taking off at a jog, I headed in the direction of Lyssa's house, hoping that Cammie would understand. I couldn't let an innocent kid get involved in my mess. I would drop her off then come back and help Cam. I knew, well was pretty sure, she'd be okay until then.

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><p><strong>Cliff hanger! Another chapter or two this weekend…I hope. SO I hear that some of you like Calex and some of you don't…..how do we feel about Zammie?!<strong>

**Love, **

**Striker **


	23. That Dumb British Spy's Confusion

**Just so y'all know, I'm procrastinating my homework to write this chapter. Which is just fine with me. **

**Thanks to my reads and reviewers:**

djrocks

sweetly-secret

An Avid Reader Forever

a person

Mythomagic-Champion

**P.S. 102 reviews? I love you all so much.**

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><p><strong>Cammie's POV:<strong>

Contrary to common belief, the plan I came up with to get away from the mobsters was pretty amazing. Alex is just a wimp.

So therefore, it's not my fault that he was dumb enough to jump over _the wrong side of the truck. _

Really, he hadn't been listening to me. I specifically said to go over the passenger side. I _thought _he'd think about the difference between English cars and American ones, but no, apparently he's not as smart as I thought he was.

Sorry for the rant, but now you are caught up to my predicament. I was about six hundred yards away from the truck before I realized that all the excitement wasn't just from the bomb AKA the-fiery-distraction-device. The guys that had been in the cab of the truck were shouting and running into the cornfield across the road. Then I figured out that Alex wasn't behind me.

Cursing in Arabic, I slowed to a stop, dropping to my knees behind a scraggily bush/tree out of sight. At this point, I had two options:

**1. Go back and rescue Alex**

**2. Keep going towards the airport **

Now, before everyone gets overly excited about me even _thinking _about leaving Alex behind (and then actually doing it), I have a small confession to make. Really, it's totally insignificant and hardly worth mentioning…but it does make the reasoning behind my options sound more legitimate.

**My Confession**

**By Agent Cameron Morgan, 'Chameleon'**

**I injected a GPS tracking device into Alex's left arm.**

This little confession deserves a little explaining…so this is how the tracking device came about. So, I got this whole tracking device set for my birthday last year and I've been dying to try it out. I tried to get my roommates to let me test it out on one of them, but they really weren't interested. As a matter of fact, Macey said she'd move out if I came within a ten foot radius of her, Bex said she would make my life painful and more miserable then I'd ever thought was possible, and Liz just fainted when I showed her the needle.

Really, the needle was tiny (super skinny, maybe a _little_ long) and as Alex proved, it doesn't hurt much. I mean, when I injected in to his arm when we were in one of those dull traffic jams in California, he didn't even twitch in his sleep. I figured that it might be good to be able to keep a third eye on him if you know what I mean. That's how I found him in Oregon at the cemetery, proving that it worked remarkably well.

The tracker itself was in the airplane, I decided it would be safer there and in the long run it was probably the best idea to head back to the plane anyway. I could fly a plane by myself and Kansas is a pretty flat place, I could land just about anywhere to pick up Alex. Then we could head back to South Dakota and the S Force.

We had enough suspicions about the John Deere Mob for Striker's clients to take a hard look at their management here. True, we didn't know the whole story but in all likelihood, we never will. The mob is like that; all the information is floating around somewhere, it just takes a lot of time to piece everything together. Time that we didn't have.

I was just about back to the airport an hour later when a sound off to my left caught my attention. It sounded like several people talking and moving around. It was close to eleven and it was a little late for a hike in the pitch black.

Doubling back, I moved into position behind the figures. I counted three, two males and one female, and from their voices, they were rather young.

"-I don't feel bad for you, you know what they say about those people. You _knew _what they were getting into," the girl was saying.

One of the guys answered, "It had to happen. All we had to do was get inside, get the stuff and get out, but dumbo over there is blind and deaf."

"They came out of nowhere! I swear!"

"Oh please, I was half way in the window and I heard them!"

"Who knew that they would leave and come back in under ten minutes?"

"What a stupid excuse-"

"Oh, well, excuse me! What would you like me to say?"

The girl cut in, "Will you two chill out? All this fuss over a stupid three dollars and ninety cents!"

"Those cheapskates fired us and then shorted us a dollar ninety-five each!"

"Oh, please."

I must have made some sort of noise because the trio stopped and turned around. "Hey, who's there?"

"I can see you!" the girl called out.

Slowly, I pulled myself up from the bush I'd ducked behind. I had this suspicion that I knew who the two guys were, "I'm not here to hurt you."

I moved cautiously closer as the light of a cell phone shined in my eyes. "Hey, that's the chick from the feed store!"

"What-dude, she is!"

"What chick?" the girl chimed in.

"The one we told you about, the one that saved our butts, hey, where's your friend?" the taller of the guys, an energetic sounding dude, bounded over to me, dragging the girl with him, "We never got to thank you, we sorta hightailed it outa there."

I laughed woefully, "I know, but I probably would have lit out too."

"So who exactly are you?" the girl cut in, looking me up and down. Apparently, she was somebody's jealous girlfriend.

Ignoring the question about my name, I continued, "I couldn't help but over hear you all talking about why you were at the feed store. You used to work there?"

The other guy who'd been pretty quiet spoke, "Yeah, we did. For the summer, but they said they were 'downsizing' and fired us."

"And shorted us money," the first guy chimed in.

"Did you ever notice anything odd about things that went on there? Strange deliveries, weird comings and goings?"

"Well, they had a bunch of 'security guys,' which is odd for this town. But no, nothing _really_ odd. Why do you ask?"

"And what's your name?" the other guy added.

I pulled out a bill from my pocket and handed it to the taller guy, "Here, I think this should cover your losses."

Turning around, I moved off into the night, disappearing before any of the trio realized what had happened. I smiled to myself, imagine their faces when they realized I'd given them a fifty-dollar bill.

* * *

><p>Half an hour later, the plane and I were flying low over a small farm. My GPS tracker was telling me that Alex was somewhere inside of the house. My plan was to land on the long driveway and quickly grab Alex before heading back to Mount Rushmore.<p>

The sound of an airplane bouncing down the driveway brought everyone inside of the house running to the front porch. I could just make out two taller men, a slight woman and half a dozen children pointing and shouting.

One of the men turned, Alex, and said something to the group, bending down to accept hugs from the little kids. He turned and jogged down the steps and across the yard. Alex clamored up the side of the plane and hopped into the passenger side.

"Fancy meeting you here!" I shouted over the roar of the engine as we took off back down the driveway.

"What took you so long?!"

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><p><strong>Well there! We'll be back in South Dakota for the next chapter.<strong>

**Love to all, REVIEW PLEASE!**

**Striker**


	24. Codename: Peacock

**Hey y'all! I'm back! NICS was spiffy incase you were wondering. And now I have the day off of school, randomly turned on the TV and got sucked into a 2-part House episode. So yay for me. Thanks to my readers and reviewers:**

a person

An Avid Reader Forever

Sweetly-Secret

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><p><strong>Alex's POV: <strong>

"So you took the little girl back to her family and then stayed there with them?" Cammie asked after I finished recounting my story to her.

"What else I was supposed to do? You were MIA and there was a field full of mob muscle waiting to kill me."

"It's against protocol to put American citizens in danger like that."

"Nothing happened-" I began.

Cammie sent me a truly venomous look, "If they'd found you instead of me, what was your plan?"

"I-"

"I don't actually want to hear it."

The rest of the plan ride to South Dakota was spent in silence. I tried to get some sleep, but either there was a ton of turbulence or Cammie was still pissed. I'm betting the latter.

I guess it was the sleep deprivation, but everything flew past me in flashed of color and sound. By noon when we arrived back at Mount Rushmore, it had been twenty hours since I had last slept and I was dead on my feet. But I wasn't too tired to see that there was something going down at the S Force headquarters. Everyone seemed to be on edge, shoving things into boxes and Striker was snapping at people louder than what was normal.

"What's wrong?" I muttered to Cam as we took in the pandemonium.

She shrugged, "I have no clue."

As the girl who had gotten me my security clearances, Clover was her name I think, scuttled past, I reached out and grabbed her arm, "Hey, what's going on?"

Her brown eyes looked very big behind her blue-framed glasses, but she spit out an answer before scurrying off again, "Code E!"

"What's Code E?" I called to her retreating figure.

She didn't answer, but Striker seemed to finally notice that we had arrived from her position on the catwalk above us. "Yo! Chameleon, get up here!"

We did as we had been directed, scuttling up the long catwalk with out duffle bags slung over our shoulders. "What's going on?" Cammie asked Striker when we had finished our trek.

"Code Evacuation, stage two."

"I know that, but why?"

"Classified."

Both holding out thin manila file folders, Cammie and Striker traded without checking the contents of the folders or even having to ask.

"Thank you for you work," Striker said, shaking our hands in turn, "There are two plane tickets in there. I'll have to ask you to leave now, there's a lot of work to be done before…well, that doesn't matter, but you know how to reach me if I'm needed."

Cammie nodded, "Thanks again."

Striker gave one quick nod and an even quicker smile before heading back down the catwalk, probably to yell at someone. "Where are the plane tickets for?" I asked as I followed Cammie to the back exit of the S Force HQs.

"Dallas."

"Texas?"

"The one and only," she confirmed.

"What's in Texas?"

"Answers, hopefully."

She pushed open the door and we stepped out into the blistering afternoon heat. Matching across the monument, she had clearly ended the discussion. "Wish I knew what the questions were," I muttered, jogged to catch up with her.

* * *

><p>After an hour drive to the nearest airport, an hour getting through security, a two hour delay, a two hour flight, and another half an hour getting through security at our destination, we finally arrived in Texas. That would be twenty-five and a half hours of no sleep.<p>

They say that everything is bigger in Texas, and from what I could see as we stood outside of the Dallas International Airport, this was a true fact. Who knew that so many huge trucks could fit into tiny airport parking spaces?

"What are we waiting for?" I asked after we had been standing in the sweltering heat for a solid fifteen minutes.

"It's more of a who."

"Alright, _who _are we waiting for?"

"A friend."

It's lucky that I have so much self-control; otherwise I probably would have throttled her. A part of that self-control also my have been the fact that a long stretch limo pulled up to the curb. The back window rolled down and a female voice from inside spoke, "Welcome to Texas. Need a ride?"

Cammie grinned and hopped right in. I supposed since she didn't close the door behind her that it was an invitation to enter the car.

I stepped into the frigid air conditioning, letting my eyes adjust to the dark interior as I pulled the door shut behind me. There were two rows of seats, one facing the driver and one facing towards the rear of the car and two single chairs along the sides.

The most beautiful girl I'd ever seen sat with in one of the single chairs, just grinning at me.

Her porcelain face was sharp with a determined little chin and high cheekbones that demanded attention. Her electric blue eyes were both intelligent and playful under arched eyebrows that gave her face a sarcastic lilt. A turned up nose with a diamond stud sat perfectly above her full, red mouth. Raven black hair that looked almost blue from where it was gathered hung over one of her thin shoulders. Long, athletic legs clad in a simple pair of linen shorts stretched out in front her, all leisure and relaxation. Her left hand twirled a piece of that impressive hair around her finger, effectively capturing all of my attention. A blue striped t-shirt hugged her curves and her delicate feet were in a shimmery pair of flip-flops.

I was probably staring with my mouth wide open for at least half an hour, but no one acknowledged me right away. They were speaking in another language, that appeared to be Cammie's favorite way of excluding me in conversations, and when they finally looked at me, I had my act semi-back together.

"So this is the elusive Alex Rider," the girl said, giving me a quick once over, "he's not as James Bond as I thought he'd be. James Bond never had black eyes."

I blushed, crossing my fingers that no one could tell in the darkness of the car's interior.

Cammie was laughing, "Well, he's got the accent. Alex Rider, meet Macey McHenry, my ex-roommate and one of my best friends; code name Peacock."

"The pleasure's all mine," I replied, grinning urbanely.

Macey nodded, "He does certainly have an accent."

Before anyone could utter another word, the car slammed to a halt, throwing us all to the floor. Shouting from outside, followed by gunshots pressed me closer to the floor, waiting for the splintering of glass.

There wasn't any.

"Gregory, what's wrong?!" Macey shouted over the noise.

"A whole carload of armed men, Ms. McHenry. Don't worry."

"Don't worry?!" I asked as the car roared back to life, screeching around and racing away from the noise.

Macey pulled herself up, followed by Cam, and tugged at her shirt like she was bored, "One of the perks of being a Senator's daughter, armored cars for limos. Anyway, I was thinking Fearing's for dinner. They have the most amazing food."

"Sounds good to me," Cammie said, "but can we stop back at your house so I can change and shower. I still smell like Kansas."

"Sure, and I have this cute little Burberry dress that has your name on it-"

"We just got ambushed and we're making dinner plans?" I cut in.

Both girls looked at me, but Macey rolled her eyes and answered my question, "We can't get little things like that ruin our whole day, now can we?"

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><p><strong>LOL, Macey. I think Alex thinks she's hot. Review Please!<strong>


	25. An Interlude: Girls Night Out?

**Sometimes, I really hate TV writers. Especially when they let the perfect couple be perfect (falling in love, realizing it, marriage, ect.) then make them get divorced and shatter all that is good in the world. ***_**Cough, cough **_**HOUSE: Cameron and Chase **_**cough, cough* **_**You know, whatever. It's not like happiness is realistic, hence the reason that Striker will probably end up forever alone with fifty cats. **

**Wow, pity party there, sorry; long day. Thanks to my readers and reviewers!**

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><p><strong>Cammie's POV:<strong>

As expected, Macey's house in Dallas was about nine times larger than your average house (i.e. twice as big as a regular Texas-big house) in a classy neighborhood just outside of the city limits. It was one of those brick cookie cutter mansions that usually sold for somewhere in the neighbor of four million dollars.

We rode up to a formal wrought iron gate in the armored limo, waited while the guards checked the whole vehicle for who knows what, then drove up the long curved driveway before coming to a halt in front of the house.

We stepped out of the car and hustled from one air-conditioned space to another. The McHenry's foyer was grand of course, with rich white marble, luxurious dark woods, sky-high windows, and an antique chandelier that probably had fifty light bulbs and weighed more than a small horse.

Marching towards the stairwell, Macey didn't leave any time for gawking, however, "Hot showers and fresh clothes this way!"

**Number of stairs we climbed: 32**

**Number of floors we went through: 3**

**Number of doors we past: 29**

**Number of hallways we went through: 8**

**Number of windows we past: 26**

**Number of maids we past: 4**

**Number of wings in the house: 6**

"You'll be staying in the European wing, I thought you might feel more at home here, Alex," Macey was saying with a grand smile as she pulled the heavy double doors to one of the bedrooms open. The room looked like it had been torn from an English manor, complete with honey-colored paneling on the walls, a stunning canopy bed, and a silver tea service on an ottoman by the ornate fireplace.

"Wow," Alex said, taking the room in.

"We will meet back in the foyer in exactly one hour. Be dressed for dinner," Macey said, yanking me back into the hallway and closing the door behind us.

"You really think he can get back to the foyer? I'm a trained spy and I'm not sure _I_ can get back there."

Macey waved away my concerns, pulling me down the hall at breakneck speed, "Irrelevant."

We wound our way around a few more corridors as Macey spoke, here eyes bright and excited, "You and Bex forgot to mention one _very_ important fact about Alex Rider, young lady."

"What?"

"He's _Hot_. With a capital H."

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><p>After making me promise to spill every single little detail about Alex, Macey had left my in my beach resort themed (with a pool view) guest room to shower and change.<p>

The whole bathroom was magnificent and when I saw the number of showerheads in the bathroom, I about cried. The hot shower relaxed me for the first time since this trip had started.

I was hardly worried about springing my plan of action of Alex anymore. Okay, so I'm lying there, it's a hazard of the job. But I really wasn't _as _worried as I had been.

Macey had left the totally gorgeous Nordstrom dress hanging in the closet along with an utterly delectable pair of silver Jimmy Choo's. The little black dress was short, tight and sexy, it totally screamed spy. The lacy bodice was daringly low and the silky bottom half wrapped tightly around my hips…not gonna lie here; I looked darn good in it.

Slipping my feet into the strappy heels, I sat down at bathroom mirror to do my makeup and fix my hair. A few waves of the curling iron and my hair shone and fell in soft waves down my back.

Satisfied with my overall look, I grabbed my phone and a cute little clutch from the closet and headed out to the hallway. I started towards the foyer, but changed my mind and turned around, heading for Alex's room. He was going to get lost and make us late, which would make Mace grouchy.

When I was sure I had the right room five minutes later, I knocked loudly and called, "Alex? Are you ready?"

When there was no answer, I got a little worried and reached for the door handle. Pulling it open just enough to peak into the room, I listened for the shower or the sound of someone getting dressed. When I didn't hear anything, I pushed the door open a little more and scanned the room.

There was a pile of dirty laundry on the floor next to the wardrobe and the bathroom door was open with the light on, but no one was in sight. When my eyes rested on the bed, I had to smile.

Alex was nestled down under the mattress, hair still wet, and fast asleep. I thought about waking him, at least I wanted him to see how nice I looked, but he looked so young and venerable and just plain tired I didn't have the heart. Walking into the room, I shut the bathroom light off ad threw the dirty clothes down the laundry chute. I paused at the bed for just a second, pulling up the blanket a little and brushing a stray curl from his forehead, "Sleep tight," I whispered.

As I was closing the door behind me, I swore I heard Alex say that I looked beautiful. More than likely, it was my imagination.

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><p>"You look good," Macey said, glancing up from her cell, "Where's Alex?"<p>

"Asleep," I said, tugging at my skirt, "This dress is amazing…is it rude to inquire how much it cost?"

"Not rude at all, you're the curious kind. Only three eighty, on sale. So he's not coming?"

"Three hundred and eighty _dollars_?" I asked looking down at my dress. She nodded and I made a mental note to order something that would no stain this dress at any cost. I answered Macey's other question, "No, he's not coming. Girl's night out."

Macey cocked one her of perfect black eyebrows, "I'll be sure to tell Zach that you called him a girl."

"Zach's here?"

She nodded, "Bex is flying in tonight. Apparently, Alex made quite an impression on her too."

"Too?" I asked, slightly confused.

Motioning me to follow her, we headed out to the limo, "Well, either Zach lied to his superiors because he wanted to help Alex…or see you, I suppose."

"He lied to his superiors?"

"It's a long story," Macey said with a shrug, sliding into the limo before adjusting her short red dress, "He can give you all the gory details when we see him."

Settling in beside her, I tried to quell the butterflies rising in my stomach. Zach, Macey, Bex, and me…this could turn into an international fiasco. Not to mention what could happen between Zach and Alex over…well, I suppose you can guess.

Oh, the life of a spy.

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><p><strong>Little bit of a filler, hence the interlude title, but say lovie. Yes, I know that's not how you spell that. I do happen to be in French 2…supposedly.<strong>

**Love and Reviews Welcome.**

**~Striker**


	26. Pointless Planning & Planned Kidnappings

**I'm here for my weekendly update! Ready to see the elusive Zach? Trust me, you'll enjoy this chapter (and it's another Cammie). Love to my reviewers!**

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><p><strong>Cammie's POV:<strong>

As expected, Fearing's was a very swanky restaurant in one of Dallas' hottest districts. It was a long, modern building with tinted windows running all around the first floor with just a few glittering on the second floor. We cut the line at the door just by dropping the Senator's name and were escorted to the balcony-like second floor which had a dozen tables scattered around, each one private and very cozy. I counted at least three celebrities, four politicians, and two other members of the higher class who were definitely _not _with their proper spouses. But I'm not judging.

The furthest table sat tucked into a dark corner with a large window overlooking the lights of downtown Dallas. In the gloom, I could just make out a lone masculine figure sitting facing the window. The host disappeared as the figure stood.

No matter how many times I see Zachary Goode in my lifetime, I think he'll always make me a little shaky. It gets better the more time I'm around him, but seeing him standing in that restaurant clad in a finely tailored suit, dark hair messy, green eyes sparkling…wow. It had been nearly six months since I'd last seen Zach…and for once, I actually looked as good as he did.

"Zach," Macey greeted him with a graceful incline of her head, sliding past him and into the booth.

"Macey," he replied. I couldn't be sure in the dim light, but it felt like his eyes were on me.

There was a pause, but I managed to get out a few words that sort of sounded like something a normal, not-nervous-at-all girl might feel around her sort-of-boyfriend-that-she-hasn't-seen-in-ages.

"Been a while, hmm?"

He nodded, "It has been. You look good-well," he finished lamely, running his fingers through his hair before motioning to me to take a seat. I can barely admit this, but I sorta wished he was running his hands through _my _hair. FOCUS CAMMIE!

I brushed past him, my arm tingling where he touched it, and slid into the booth next to Macey. Zach took the chair across from us, with his back to the window. A waitress in a rather skimpy uniform appeared to take our orders and leave a complementary bottle of champagne.

Ignoring that fact that we were all under twenty-one, Macey reached for the bottle and began pouring us all glasses. When we were all settled in, Zach opened the conversation, "So, where's Rider?"

"Back at the house," Macey answered.

"Sleeping," I supplied.

Zach nodded, "I see. He couldn't even drag himself out of bed for a meeting involving him."

"We've been up for close to thirty-two hours," I nearly snapped, proving that Alex wasn't the only sleep deprived one.

Zach looked slightly taken aback at my snappy defense of Alex, but he was bright enough not to say anything. Macey continued, "It may be best that he's not here. At the moment, he's a little bit on edge."

"Being rouge can do that to a person," Zach agreed.

Well, that was an interesting comment coming from him, but I let it pass. Instead I turned the conversation to all of the things that had happened to Alex and I since we'd met up in Mexico.

Both Macey and Zach sat listening with their Spy Faces© only stopping me to clarify something or ask a question. I finished just as the waitress delivered the main course, and we all thoughtfully chewed for a few minutes.

"So you don't think that this Tom Harris is selling information?" Macey asked.

I shook my head, "No, and I think that the necklace was just a coincidence, I hate to say it but we were really on the wrong path with that."

"How did the necklace get from Pennsylvania to England to Mexico?" Zach pondered aloud.

I shrugged, "Who knows? The Black Market would be my guess."

"What are you going to do with it?" Macey asked, picking the piece in question up from where I'd set it on the table. I'd 'hidden' it long ago; I'd been wearing it since Seattle. It felt odd not to have the weight around my neck. I don't believe in curses.

"Return it to the museum in Pennsylvania."

She arched an eyebrow, "Won't that bring up a lot of questions you don't want to answer?"

"It'll all be anonymously done," I replied in a _duh _voice, "I was thinking it might make a sensational news story if the thing just showed up back in its case."

Macey pushed the necklace aside, "Okay, so the necklace isn't important at this point. What next?"

"We need to figure out who's framing Alex," I said.

"And find out why," Macey agreed.

Zach had been oddly quite this whole conversation. It was actually starting to annoy me. "Do you have some sort of input over there?" I asked.

He didn't say anything, just motioned to the floor below us where some sort of commotion going on. My eyes zeroed in on the entrance where a guy in jeans and a t-shirt was fighting with the host. Clearly, this was not a jeans kind of establishment. But that tall build and blond hair looked really familiar…oh, boy. Alex.

"Guess he woke up," Zach said mildly as I stood up.

"I'll go get him, be right back!"

I tottered as fast as I could in Macey's Jimmy Choo's, but when I reached the bottom of the stairs, the world shattered, literally. Machine gun fire filled my ears and I dove down the last of the stairs as the windows all around me exploded into trillions of shards.

I landed with my arms covering my head, and I was vaguely aware of something warm and sticky running down my hands. But when the hail of bullets stopped half a minute later, it didn't stop me from struggling my feet.

All around me, people were screaming and crying and rushing for various exits. Already, I could hear sirens in the distance. Frantically, I searched the room for Alex, but I didn't catch sight of his t-shirt until a terrified man shoved me to the floor. Two men in dark jackets each had one of Alex's limp arms and they were dragging him out of what had once been the front window.

"Alex!" I yelled, dodging a group of people and sprinting for the window. I fell once, splitting a gash in my calf and I could hear Zach and Macey yelling behind me. I vaulted through the window and landed on the sidewalk just in time to see Alex tumble into the back of a dark sedan.

I took three steps before the car roared off and the muzzle of a machine gun appeared out of one of the windows. Before I could move, someone tackled me from behind, sending me smashing to the pavement just as another hale of bullets pounded the building behind me. With the rain of bullets still all around me, the last thing I remember is the scream that tore at my lips and the darkness that took over my senses and pushed me into pitch blackness.

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><p><strong>CLIFFY! MUHAHAHA, take that! I do love you all, I just can't help myself. It's like my strange addiction: cliffies. <strong>

**Ok, so I took some liberties with Cammie and Zach's relationship, but something less steady is so much more FUN! And I happen to be a very happy Zammie supporter!**

**Reviews make me a very happy camper, lovies!**

**Lots of Love, **

**Striker **


	27. It's A Bird! It's A Plane! It's Liz?

**There are no words. You all hate me, I know. These weeks has been really hectic (and last week was my SWEET SIXTEEN! AND I GOT MY PERMIT!) and I four tests on one day this week, so I have a reason, albeit not a very good one. Love to my faithful followers and reviewers!**

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><p><strong>Alex's POV:<strong>

The first thing that I noticed when I awoke was the groggy sense that the world was moving. Slowly, I opened one eye, then the other. Not that there was anything to see, the world was suspiciously dark. It took me a minute to figure out that there was a thick blindfold tied over my eyes. Carefully, I tried to move my arms first, then my legs, which of course were tightly tied. My head was throbbing and as more of my senses came back to me I could hear a muffled drone.

Another bump and more droning sent me sliding across the smooth metal floor of whatever vehicle I was in. It hit me like a brick as I slammed into a smooth, metal wall; an airplane. I wasn't in a car or even a van, I was in an airplane. The drone of the engine roared in my ears as another bout of turbulence sent me flying back over to the other side of the plane.

As I again slammed into the side of the plane, a voice was raised over the drone, "Hey, Jay, secure him some more. No body's gonna pay if he's all black and blue."

There was a pause and what I assumed was a shrug, "Yeah, I guess I should do it before he's awake."

One of the men stood up then I could feel the vibration of his footsteps towards me. I lay limp like I was still unconscious until the thug was right on top of me. Muttering under his breath, he grabbed my feet and began dragging me roughly across floor of the plane.

"Hey, be careful with him, what did I say about damaged merchandise?" The other guy bellowed from what I deduced to be the front of the plane.

My feet were dropped with a resounding _thunk_ as the thug dropped my feet and cursed out his partner/employer. Rather than see, I could feel him bending down to pick me up.

I acted in that split second, sitting up fast and slamming my head into his nose. I caught him off guard, and he cursed loudly and stumbled back. Rolling over, I managed to get half of the blindfold off. The tall, heavyset man, Jay, I'd head-butted was holding his nose as bright red dripped blood around his fingers.

His partner, a lean, short, balding man came up behind him, shouting obnoxiously. I crawled backwards, struggling to free my hands or my arms. My back slammed against a heavy wooden crate, just as the men dove towards me. I rolled left to avoid the bigger one, but crashed unto the smaller one. He grabbed me by the blindfold, twisting a lot tighter than I imagined he could as he hauled me to my feet.

Pushing his weasely face close to mine, he laughed bitterly, "Nice try, kiddo. I guess making action movies didn't train you as well as you thought they had."

"What- are- you- talking- about?" I rasped as I was dragged across the plane by the blindfold around my neck.

He laughed again as he shoved me to the floor, letting Jay tie me to the wall. "Don't play stupid with us kid," Jay muttered in my ear, "Stupid makes the boss mad. And making the boss mad is stupid, Ronnie, boy."

"My name's not-"

I didn't even see the hand coming at me until it connected with my face and the world once again faded to black.

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><p><strong>Cammie's POV:<strong>

"I don't _pass out," _I insisted, "I just had my eyes closed."

Macey rolled her blue eyes, "Please, don't insult my intelligence. Or yours for that matter."

"I'm fine."

"You're full of it."

Changing the conversation, I glanced over to where Zach was giving his statement to a police officer, "Did you get the license number?"

"I was a little busy making sure my friend was alive, so no."

A thought struck me and I glanced around for my purse, which was on the ground near where I'd fallen. Picking it up, I dug around for my phone. Starting up the tracker program, I waited a solid four seconds for the little blinky light that was Alex to show up. It never did.

**What Might Have Actually Happened**

**A List By Operatives Cameron Morgan and Macey McHenry **

**1. Equipment malfunction, either the tracker or the device itself (Three words: Liz Sutton: Creator.)**

**2. Alex found the tracker and disabled it at an earlier point in time (Why didn't he confront Operative Morgan?)**

**3. The device is out batteries (It's been nowhere near 500,000 hours.)**

**4. He's out of range (How far can you get in 21 minutes?)**

**5. Five was a negative thought and has been stricken from the record. **

"I'm calling Liz," Macey said, grabbing me by the arm and dragging me towards Zach and dialing with the other hand. "Goode, we're leaving," Macey bellowed, pushing her way through the crowd towards the limo parked at the curb.

Zach followed like an obedient puppy as Macey shoved me into the limo. Cursing loudly in French, I ignore the fact that Macey had skillfully maneuvered Zach into the seat next to me.

In turn, Macey was ignoring my cursing, "Here, it's ringing."

"Hello?" Liz's voice answered a few seconds later, sounding uncharacteristically nervous.

"What's wrong, Lizzey? It's Cammie."

She let out a noisy sigh of relief, "Ohmigosh, I thought it was your mom again."

"I told you, just tell her I'm fine."

There was a long silence at the end of the line. "Liz?" I ventured.

"I- never mind. What do you need?"

"The tracker's not working."

"You lost him again?"

"It's a long story."

There was the sound of typing keys, "I'm checking the software for errors…it looks fine to me."

"Well, there's no blinky light."

"Hmm…well lets look at little closer shall, we?"

I settled back against the soft seats of the limo, watching the lights of Dallas speed by. The car was too warm, Zach was sitting to close, and I could feel the soft material of his expensive blazer against my bare arm. I shivered even with the heat. Zach looked over at me and opened his mouth to speak.

Thankfully, Liz came back on the line, "I got it! He's in a plane!"

"A plane? How can you tell that?"

"I zoomed out on the screen. But he's rapidly descending over, you'll never guess, Huntington, Alabama! That's like my backyard!"

"Awesome, Liz. We'll be there-"

A voice in the background cut me off, "Liz, darlin', someone's here to see you!"

"Who is it, Mom? I'm sorta busy right now," Liz replied, cupping her hand over the phone.

"It's your headmistress, Mrs. Morgan! From Gallagher! She came all the way down here to talk to you!"

"I'll be right there," Liz squeaked. There was a breath of silence, "Cammie, what do I do?!"

"Stay calm-"

"Your mom's going to interrogate me! She's probably torture the information out of me! I can't handle torture! I'm going to work in the lab!"

"Liz, she's not-"

"I know! I'll go find Alex! I'll sneak out the window and follow the tracking device!"

"No, absolutely not! We don't know what we're dealing with here, Liz!"

There was the wound of rummaging around as Liz packed a bag full of who-knows-what. "Bookworm?!" I yelled.

"I won't engage, I'll just hold down the fort until you can get here," there was a muffled call and Liz squealed, "I gotta go, I'll call you later."

"No, Liz- wait!"

"What's wrong?" Zach asked as I cursed. Again. Really loudly.

"My mom's at Liz's house looking for me and now Liz's going after Alex."

"Alone?" Macey asked.

I nodded. Macey picked up the car phone next to her and called the driver, "Change of plans, Harris, take us to the airport."

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><p><strong>Well, is Cammie still into Zach?! I don't know! Good update? Hopefully I'll get another up in the coming week!<strong>

**Lots of Love, **

**Striker**


	28. Bookworm: Rogue

**Thanks to my readers and reviewers! Look who's narrating this chapter!**

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><p><strong>Liz's POV:<strong>

I can't lie; I may be super smart, but I am not cut out for any form of athleticism or covert operation fieldwork.

I sort of panicked when my mother came to tell me that Mrs. Morgan was sitting in our formal parlor enjoying a glass of sweet tea. I mean, who wouldn't? I was the only one standing between an angry mother and her missing child. An angry _spy_ mother and her missing renegade_ spy _child_. _

As I admitted, I'm not very good at anything athletic, but I mastered the art of sneaking out of my second story bedroom in the third grade. Thank heavens for the great oak that had been growing outside of my home since before the Civil War. The huge tree had provided a handy escape route for generations of Suttons.

Shoving my laptop, chord, cell phone, batteries, flashlight, bugging devices, handcuffs, emergency snack pack, first aid kit, Taser, ear-blasting whistle, and pepper spray into my backpack, I yanked the windows open and stepped out onto my small balcony.

Carefully closing the window behind me, I swung my leg over the railing and stepped out onto the smooth bark of the tree. Checking to make sure no one was below, I scampered down with damp palms, startling at every little noise.

I crept past the parlor window, checking to make sure that my chatty mother had Mrs. Morgan fully engaged.

Satisfied that she was, I Army crawled across the driveway, behind the bright hydrangeas, and down to where my rusty black Jeep was parked. Tossing my bag into the back, I slithered up into the seat, glad for once that there wasn't any doors to slam. Reaching for my keys, I fugitively glanced around to make sure there was no one around.

The keys weren't in my back pocket…or my other back pocket…or any of my other pockets for that matter. My stomach sank to my feet. I could picture my neat peaches-and-cream themed room; the keys were sitting right on my bureau.

"Stupid!" I slapped my forehead. I couldn't even sneak out of my house without forgetting my car keys.

"Goin' somewhere, Lizzey?"

I let out a small screech, "Ohmigosh, Ellie! I told you never to sneak up on me like that!"

My thirteen-year-old sister just shrugged. Dressed like me in a tank top and cut offs, Ellie had clearly been out to the swimming hole. Her bright blonde hair, so much like mine, was dripping onto her tan shoulders. Unlike me, she didn't sunburn and wasn't particularly shy.

"Why don't you go find something better to do than harass me? And if Mom asks, you haven't seen me," Sliding down in the seat, I began fiddling with the wires underneath the dash.

"Why?"

"Because I said."

"Whatcha doin'?"

I glanced up at her, "Ellie, I need to go to help one of my friends out. But Mom can't know I'm leaving."

"How come?"

I let out an exasperated sigh, "Because her mom is sitting in our living room with our mom."

She nodded, "Gotcha."

When I had all of the necessary wires arranged, I sat back up in the seat, "Ellie, you really have to go now," I said, putting the car in neutral and it roll slowly down the sloped driveway.

Instead of listening to me, my headstrong sister jumped right into the passenger seat, "Nah, I'll come with."

"Ellie, this isn't any joke. My friend's in real trouble. Things could get…" I paused, trying to come up with something that wouldn't scare her into tattling on me.

"Dangerous?"

"Well…"

"You owe me ten bucks and a ride to town whenever I want," she turned and jumped out of the slowly moving Jeep.

"Be careful!" I hissed.

"And maybe I'll tell Mom you left in a couple of hours."

Before I could threaten to kick her skinny little rear end, the sound of the screen door opening cut me off, "Ellie! Have you seen your sister?"

Waving as I backed out onto the street and started the engine, Ellie smiled at me and called back to mom, "Ain't seen her, ma!"

"Don't say ain't!"

* * *

><p>Half an hour later, I parked the Jeep in a thicket of trees next to the grass strip that was serving as the runway for Alex Rider's kidnappers. I had set up the Jeep to be it's own little Wifi hotspot the year we got it. My computer, the tracking devices and the rest of my gear were spread over the passenger seat and the floor.<p>

From my calculations, Alex Rider was stationary in a building about a quarter of a mile from where I was parked. Standing up, I pulled a clear, megaphone/dish-shaped item from my bag. The Long Distance Audio Track GX007 went out of production quite a while ago, but it worked pretty well in situations like this.

Through the fairly dense forest and the aluminum building, I would be able to hear any conversation going on like I was sitting in the next room. Plugging in the headphones, I set it on 'record' and sat back to listen.

**Operative Report**

**By Operative Elizabeth Sutton**

**Time: 8:47 pm, Central Time **

**Location: 2 miles outside of Huntington, AL**

**Mission: Locate (and possibly- probably not- extricate) one Alex Rider**

**Operative Sutton, codename 'Bookworm' set up a listening post about ¼ of a mile from Rider's location (which was determined by a tracking device located in his left shoulder). **

**Conversation****:**

**Unidentified Male 1: "When are we going to make the call?"**

**Unidentified Male2: "In the morning, give 'em time to realize this isn't one of the kid's jokes."**

**Unidentified Male 1: "What if they won't dish out the cash?"**

**Unidentified Male 2: "Then we'll up the ante."**

**Unidentified Male 1: "I don't think I want to know how we're going to do that."**

**Unidentified Male 2: "Probably not."**

**(The sound of paper rustling, suspected suspects reading newspaper/magazine. Silence for approximately 23 minutes)**

**Unidentified Male 3: *****Long groan***** **

**Unidentified Male 1: "Sounds like he's awake, want me to hit him again?"**

**Unidentified Male 2: "Nah, I think he learned his lesson."**

**Unidentified Male 3: *****More groaning***** (In a British accent) "What-?"**

**Unidentified Male 1: (to Male 2) "Can I gag him?"**

**Unidentified Male 2: "If you want to."**

**(Sound of movement)**

**Unidentified Male 3: "Wait, wait, wait! What do you want with me?"**

**Unidentified Male 1: "Your money."**

**Unidentified Male 3: "What are you talking about?"**

**Unidentified Male 1: (laughs) "Movie stars sure are dumb."**

**Unidentified Male 3: "I'm not a movie star."**

**Unidentified Male 1: "Sure Ronnie, whatever you say."**

**Unidentified Male 2: "And if you aren't who we know you are, you wouldn't be worth anything to us. We'd have to kill you."**

**Unidentified Male 3: "Well, I guess you caught me." **

The conversation from here was pretty mundane, but after four hours of waiting for the rest of my crew, I knew something had be up. My phone remained silent and I was dozing off when another phone ringing jolted me awake.

**Unidentified Male 2: (sounding confused) "What?"**

**Unidentified Telephone Voice: (muffled) "Walt you dumb- got- wrong- kid."**

**Unidentified Male 2: "What?!"**

**Unidentified Telephone Voice: "-got the wrong kid!"**

**Unidentified Male 2: "How do you know-"**

**Unidentified Telephone Voice: "Not-! Just get rid of- and get back- here!"**

**Unidentified Male 2: "Yes sir!"**

I pulled off the headphones and weighed my options. I could continue to follow the thugs from a distance…or I could go in and get Alex Rider myself. I had the training…sort of. "Don't panic, Liz, don't panic. Call your team."

I reached for my phone and dialed Cam, then Macey. "Come on, answer!" No answer from either. Slipping the head phones back on, I heard the Unidentified Males discussing ways to get rid of the body. There wasn't time to wait for backup, I realized. Swallowing hard, I braced myself for what I had to do.

Shutting down my headquarters, I hotwired the Jeep again and drove slowly down the road towards the building where Alex Rider was. I let the Jeep idle with it's super quiet engine (another of my upgrades) just out of sight, "Don't panic," I told myself again, grabbing my Taser and pepper spray, "Get in, get out, get gone," I repeated over and over.

I almost turned back four times and by the time I was insight of the building, I was sweating up a storm and my hands were shaking so hard I thought I was going to drop my Taser.

But through it all, my timing was perfect. The one buff goon and his skinny companion were dragging a struggling guy of about my age towards their small single engine plane.

I took one deep breath, steadied my hands and channeled my best Rebecca Baxter. Stepping out from the brush, I raised my voice, "Don't move one more step."

Both goons dropped Alex Rider's arms and spun around to face me, "What the-"

"I said don't move!" I yelled a little louder, trying to keep my hands steady, "I won't hesitate to shoot!"

I was crossing my fingers that it was too dark and they were too far away to tell that I had a Taser instead of a gun, "Put your weapons on the ground _slowly _and then put your hands in the air."

"What weapons-?" Began the skinny thug.

I pointed my Taser at him and spoke in my best scary-Bex-voice, "Don't lie to me. Guns on the ground, hands in the air or I'll give you a new belly button."

Apparently, I was sounding a lot scary than I felt. Both men slowly reached to their holsters and dropped their guns on the ground. When there hands were safely up in the air, I barked another command, "Now, face down, on the ground."

All three started to bend down, "Not you," I pointed at Alex Rider (or who I assumed was Alex Rider) "Come here."

When the two goons were safely on the ground, I pulled two pairs of handcuffs from my pocket. Eyes still on Alex Rider and the criminals, I retrieved both guns and stuck them in the waistband of my cutoffs. I threw the cuffs to Alex Rider, "Cuff 'em."

Nodding, he quickly locked on the cuffs, then looked back at me, "Now what?"

From one of the thugs' pockets, a cell phone rang. Time to get out of here, "This way."

As soon as we were out of hearing rang of the goons, I let out a shuttering breath, "Oh my gracious, that was stressful."

Alex Rider swung around, fists raised like he was going to try and beat me up, "Who exactly are you?"

I shrank back, "Elizabeth Sutton, codename Bookworm, Gallagher Academy alumni, Cammie's ex-roommate and best friend."

He looked hard at the Taser in my hand, "I don't remember her mentioning you."

"Umm…well, I guess she didn't want me getting any bad publicity. I'm up for a very sensitive position in the CIA's lab."

"Who were Cammie's other roommates?" Alex asked.

"Do we have time for-"

"Just answer the question. I've been kidnapped, beaten up, and drugged. I'm in no mood for games."

I squeezed my eyes shut, "Macey McHenry and Bex Baxter," I squeaked.

"What's her codename?"

"Chameleon."

He stepped closer to me, staring at me with bright blue eyes, searching for something. My heart was racing, and it wasn't just from stress.

"I guess I'm going to have to trust you."

"I guess. I mean, the statistic probability of you getting lost and dying to here is pretty minimal if you'd like to take that chance."

He shot me one of those looks I always get when I speak like the genius I sort of am. But his handsome face broke into a grin, "I do recall Cammie mentioning a super smart roommate."

"That's me," I shrilled.

"Did you drive?"

"What- Oh, yeah. The car's over here."

I lead the way through the brush to where the car silently idled. I tripped over a rock in the dark, falling into the driver's seat, "Oopsy daisy!"

Again, Alex Rider shot me a strange look, but hopped into the passenger seat, "What now?"

Good question. "Umm, I'm sorta hungry, how 'bout you?"

"Ravenous."

"Well then, I guess it's time you got a taste of some _real _Southern cooking," _And in the mean time, I can come up with some way to find Cammie._

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><p><strong>Well, wasn't that refreshing? This chapter was jus the unblocker I needed!<strong>

**Review lovies, **

**Agent Striker**


	29. Phoenix Rising (or trying to at least)

**I have returned bearing gifts. And one is a teddy bear named Harold…don't ask. And yes, this is a short chapter, but as I am the master of my fate, I DO WHAT I WANT. You all may find this hard to believe because I am so genteel on FanFic, but 'I DO WHAT I WANT' is basically my catch phrase. **

**Thanks to my reviewers:**

sweetly-secret

a person

An Avid Reader Forever

**Cammie's POV:**

"What's taking so long?" Zach asked me as we stood impatiently at Macey's personal jet. Yes, she does have one of those.

I shrugged, looking around in vain for our hostess who had disappeared fifteen minutes earlier to find her pilot. The sun looked like it was setting right at the end of the runway and the breeze was finally cooling everything down.

Zach had ditched his jacket and tie in the car, then undid the top buttons on his crisp white shirt. He was now in the process of rolling up his sleeves, a methodical process that was sort of mesmerizing.

Must have been the lack of sleep. It totally wasn't his muscular tan forearm or the new scar running in a thick line from his wrist until it disappeared out of sight at his shirtsleeve.

The question was on the tip of my tongue, but the look in his eyes when he caught me staring cut me off. Our eyes locked, but no one said a word.

I wanted to say something more, to ask how we'd grown so far apart in just a short amount of time, to ask if he'd missed me, to ask where he'd been, but another question came out instead, "Didn't Macey say that Bex was flying in tonight?"

The spell was broken. He looked back to his sleeves, "Her fight was delayed. But now she's trying to reroute her trip to get to Alabama. She'll be in the States by early tomorrow morning either way."

I nodded, sort of half-heartedly wondering why my best friend was talking to Zach rather than me, but I let it pass, "It'll be good to have her here."

"Yeah."

We were saved from anymore awkward, stilted conversation by the sound of fast clicking heels coming down the tarmac. Macey still looked immaculate (even after doing a face plant on the sidewalk), but something wasn't right…

**Ways To Tell A Person Is Nervous- Body Language **

**A List By Operative Cameron Morgan, 'Chameleon'**

**1. Eye movement**

**2. Hand movement**

**3. Gait speed**

**4. Face flushed **

**5. General nervous ticks (twirling hair, fidgeting, stuttering, ect.)**

Right now, Macey was walking just ever so slightly faster than her usual slow sassy saunter. Her face was flushed (prettily of course) from the heat or the exercise. She also glanced over her shoulder twice in less than a hundred feet.

By the time she got to us, all my senses were on high alert. "This way," she said, motioning us to follow her away from the plane.

"What's wrong?" Zach and I said together.

Macey glanced behind us again, "Just changed up our flight plan a bit."

"Do I even want to know why?" I asked.

"Probably not."

We walked through the shadows of the immense airport until we finally came to one of the lesser used out buildings. Fugitively, we trekked around the building until we came to a large, tarped object blocking the sunset.

"Is that-" I began as Macey gave the tarp a good yank.

"Our ride!" she announced proudly.

Our 'ride' was a very ancient, very decrepit looking helicopter. I looked at it skeptically as Macey headed over to the pilot's side, "That can't be safe to fly. It looks like it's been sitting back here for thirty years."

Macey shrugged, "Forty actually, but whose counting? Hop in, we've got a Brit to track down."

"Why do I get the distinct feeling that we are stealing this thing?" I mumbled as I tucked myself into the cramped back seat after Zach claimed shotgun (is it even called that on a plane?)

"Well, apparently, my father rented out the jet for one of his poker games, so I couldn't use it. I remembered seeing this thing back here and decided to borrow it."

"Do you even know how to fly one of these things?!" I yelled over the roar of the engine starting (after being hotwired), "I seem to recall you nearly failing your helio course last year!"

"Minor details!"

Closing my eyes, I let Zach play navigator. Slowly, out rusty bird rose into the air like a pathetically prehistoric Phoenix rising. We were about three hundred feet from the ground when the first group of people arrived; the old girl _was_ rather loud.

Shouting a prayer, Macey through the bird into gear. I closed my eyes, but we seemed to be moving forward. Slowly, I opened one eye then the other.

"Alabama, here we come!" Macey let out a cheer as we chug-chug-chugged low over the treetops.

"Does anyone smell something burning?!" Zach yelled.

**Oh dear. **

**Review!**

**~Striker **


	30. Fireside Chats (Outloud)

**Wow. I plainly have no excuse for my lack of life here in FanFic land. :/. School has been stressful, so last weekend I had a ME weekend (which entails ignoring my friends, eating mint ice cream, becoming addicted to American Pickers, and studying for Math and Physics, which tends to be an impossible task.). SO, I apologize…but I'm here now! And I have news…JUST TEN MORE CHAPTERS! Just 10 folks, and as you may remember from the end of last chapter, things are really starting to heat up. Literally.**

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><p><strong>Liz's POV:<strong>

Although I was driving with my normally, my mind was racing at approximately one hundred miles an hour. Figuratively speaking of course, there isn't any accurate way to measure the speed of a human's thoughts…although that might make a very interesting experiment-

"Hey! Watch it!"

I was jarred from my thoughts by Alex and a rather large semi blaring its horn at me. Which was a totally unnecessary gesture, I was _barely _in his lane. "Crazy drivers," I muttered.

For some unknown reason, I could see Alex's face pale a bit in the glare of the streetlights. He was probably tired… and hungry. There was no other plausible reason-

"You're driving is a very plausible reason."

I looked over at him. Apparently I had said that last part out loud.

"Yeah. You did."

Oh dear, not again. I always end up talking out loud when I get stressed over something of this caliber. Did I say _that_ out loud?

There was no reply, so I was safe to assume that my mind and mouth were safely disconnected. For the time being.

**Note to Self: Remember not to say things that you are thinking that don't need to be said out loud. **

"You really need to work on that."

Oopsy daisy.

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><p><strong>Alex's POV:<strong>

I was sort of beginning to wonder about this Liz girl before she started having a conversation with herself…out loud.

"Crazy drivers," she glanced over at me, "Wonder why Alex's face just got so pale. He's probably tired…and hungry. There's no other plausible reason-"

"Your driving is a very plausible reason."

She glanced over at me, face red, "Oh. Must have said that part out loud."

"Yeah. You did."

This time she was in full out blush mode. I could see it past her sunburn. The car lapsed into silence for another few minutes.

"Note to self: remember not to say things out loud that you are thinking that don't need to be said out loud."

She really didn't know that she was talking out loud, "You _really _need to work on that."

"Oopsy daisy."

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><p>After half an hour listening to Liz weigh out our options at lightening speed (along with learning several things that I could have lived a healthy life without ever knowing) I came to the conclusion that she was a genius. Definitely not you're run-of-the-mill teenaged girl. Not that any Gallagher Alum that I'd met seemed to be ordinary.<p>

I'd almost dozed off when the Jeep rattled to a stop outside of an all-night dinner. "What are we doing here? Is this some sort of safe house?" I asked, glancing nervously around. I could only see one way out of the place and to tell the truth, it looked pretty darn shady. It certainly didn't look anything like a government safe house. Plus, Liz hadn't inadvertently said anything about it.

Liz looked over at me, eyebrows furrowed, "Safe house? This is a restaurant. People go in and buy food then eat it."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, "I see that it's a restaurant. Why are we here?"

She shook her head, "You clearly weren't listening. To eat. We're here to _eat_."

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><p><strong>Cammie's POV:<strong>

"Does anyone smell something burning?!" Zach yelled.

Could this night get any worse? I stuck my head out of the nonexistent window of the helicopter (which caused the entire thing to tip precariously) and proceeded to curse rapidly in nine different languages.

I couldn't pin point the exact location, but there were legit flames pouring out of the back of the junk heap, "What have you gotten us into now?!" I screeched at Macey, "We're going to crash AND get caught stealing a helicopter!"

Steering busily, Macey didn't bother to look back, just yelled loudly, "Oh Ye of Little Faith! It's supposed to do that!"

"BULL!" (And that was Zach.) I noted that one of his eyes appeared to be shut. Now that could have been Macey's navigation…but…

**Fact or Fiction: I have this sinking suspicion that Zachery Goode, spy of all spies, is afraid of heights. TBD- ASAP. **

Before I could delve into this question any further, my thigh started to vibrate. Like you, I was very confused for a moment…until I remembered my cell phone. Yanking out of my compression shorts, I was slightly surprised (and relieved) to see that it was Liz.

"Liz?!" I yelled.

"Cammie?! Is that you? That is a horrible connection!"

"Don't I know it!"

"Where are you?"

"In a stolen death trap of a helicopter outside of Dallas!"

"WHAT?!"

"We might be a little late! Whoa-" I grabbed onto the back of the seat as the helio dipped, taking off the top of a tree. Macey was laughing in a gleeful tone that would best be described as devilish and _both _of Zach's eyes were closed.

"Cammie?! Cammie?! Ohmigoodness! Are you okay?" Liz sounded like she was close to hyperventilating.

"Yeah, we're fine. The tree we just hit? No so much. Are you okay?"

She squealed a little, "I'm awesome! I did it, my first solo rescue mission!"

"You have Alex?!" That made even Zach crack his eyes open to look at me.

"Yes! It was as easy as pie! I just tracked him to this old airfield then I jumped his captors and tricked them into thinking I had more than pepper spray and a Taser-"

"That's great Liz," I cut in, swallowing hard as the helicopter dipped once more, "We'll be in Alabama as soon as humanly possible. I need you to do something for me, okay?"

"Sure. Any more assignments for me? Alex and I could-"

"No! You need to take Alex someplace _safe_ and _isolated. _MI6 is after him and they have way to many eyes that could easily spot him."

"We're at Ross' Dinner on Main-"

"Public restaurants are _not _a good idea Liz, you know better."

"I know-ohmigosh! Alex!"

There was the sound of the phone being dropped and muffled shouting, "Liz! Bookworm!? Bookworm, report!"

"What's wrong?" Zach shouted as the helio soared towards the sinking sun, breathing fire the whole way.

"I don't know!" I replied, dialing Liz again, "Liz had Alex, but I think someone just got him back. How far is it to Alabama from here?"

"About three hundred miles, we can probably get there in a four hours if this thing keeps to the skies," Macey cut in.

"Make it two, I have a bad feeling about this one…"

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><p><strong>TO BE CONTINUED! (Especially if you review lots!)<strong>

**~Striker **


	31. HANG In There!

**I know, I know; Striker went MIA again. But fun fact, it's less than a hundred days until Psych season seven premiers. Who watches Psych? ;] Thanks to my ever-faithful readers and reviewers:**

An Avid Reader Forever

a person

sweetly-secret

djrocks

**Maybe I won't end this chapter in a cliff hanger…but aren't the cliff hangers what keeps bring you back? We'll see. ;]**

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><p><strong>Cammie's POV:<strong>

I was so worried about Liz and Alex, I had almost forgotten about the fact that I was in a flaming deathtrap. Almost.

"There's no way we can get to Alabama fast enough in this thing!" I shouted to Macey as the helicopter dipped one more towards the ground, "Plus, we're about seventy-five times more visible than I would like to be!"

"Well, it's somebody else's turn to come up with an idea!"

We both looked over at Zach. And yes, his eyes were firmly closed, "Afraid of heights?"

His green eyes popped open, and for a second, he looked utterly disorganized and slightly afraid. But Zach is a spy, and his perfected emotionless I-reveal-nothing mask dropped back into place, "Nah, just tired. Thought I'd try and grab some Zs on the way. We there yet?"

"You are so funny-" Before I could finish there was a very _loud _clunk from somewhere from the back of the plane followed by a hurricane force wind.

"That's supposed to happen, right!?"

We looked over at Macey, "You're the pilot aren't you supposed to know these things-"

"THIS IS THE POLICE!"

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><p><strong>Liz's POV:<strong>

"Where'd he go?!" I fairly screamed at the tired looking waitress.

"Who?"

"The guy! The one with the accent that was sitting right there a second ago!"

She looked at me like I was slightly insane. Which I probably was…Bruce Feirstein said that the difference between insanity and genius is measured only by success…oh no, did I say that out loud?

"I think he went to the bathroom," the waitress said, pointing to the left.

Spinning around, I darted across the empty restaurant and raced down a short corridor to the bathroom. Yanking my pepper spray out of my pocket, I threw my shoulder against the door, expecting it to be locked.

When it _wasn't_ locked, I did a swan dive past Alex and onto the bathroom floor. "_What _are you doing?!" he yelled, jumping back to avoid my flailing limbs.

Desperately searching for my pepper spray, I ignored Alex until his hand swooped down and snatched the pepper spray off the floor in front of me. "What are you doing?" he repeated, "I was only gone for a minute."

I looked up, expecting to see a very pissed off British boy (and if British boys were as scary as British girls [i.e. Bex] when mad, I was in big trouble) but instead I saw someone trying very hard to control their laughter.

Bristling (and trying not to think about all the germs that were now making their home on my clothes) I sat up and dusted some imaginary dirt off my clothes, "Checking on you."

The smile was starting to seep across his face, lighting up his tired blue eyes, "Checking on me? Is breaking into the bathroom with pepper spray how you Americans check on their companions?"

I nodded, "Yep. Got a problem with that?"

With a full grin on his face (one that revealed two adorable dimples. Okay, not adorable, sexy. Oh no, did I just say that out loud?!) Alex stuck his hand out and grandly helped me off of the floor, "Was there any particular reason why you were checking on me?"

Momentarily distracted, I was suddenly snapped back to reality, "Yes! We've gotta go, it's not safe here!"

Still hand-in-hand, I pulled Alex back towards the door. We met a very confused looking trucker who came about _this _close to getting a mouth full of pepper spray when he made some rude comment about the fact that I had been in the men's restroom, but I controlled myself.

Cropping a ten on the table, I ignored the dirty look the waitress was giving me and towed Alex towards my Jeep. "Um, Liz, where are we going?"

Good question.

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><p><strong>Cammie's POV:<strong>

"THIS IS THE POLICE!"

"Awesome!" I screeched at Macey, craning my neck to see out the tiny window, "You didn't happen to pack a parachute or three, did you?"

Macy's raven-haired head disappeared under the front seat for a minute (and I tried not to think about the fact that no one was piloting the helicopter) before poking up again, "Nope, no parachutes….but there is a tarp."

"LAND YOUR AIRCRAFT!"

"No, no, no!" Zach said, "That's insane, we'll kill ourselves!"

"It'll be fine!" Macy retorted. While they were fighting about aerodynamics and possible fear of heights, I made a quick survey of the plane:

**1 tarp (with several possible holes)**

**1 mass of not-very-sturdy twine **

**1 roll of prehistoric duct tape **

**1 formal dinner jacket**

**1 large cardboard box**

**1 short but solid rope (four feet or there abouts)**

**2 formal dress wraps (that cost more than this helicopter probably did)**

**2 screw drivers**

**2 rolls of hideous Christmas wrapping paper**

**2 halves of a fire extinguishers (so helpful)**

**4 seat cushions **

**5 empty beer cans**

**6 full beer cans**

**6 metal bars of questionable origin (curtain rods? Important parts of the helio?)**

Well, being slightly drunk might make this jump hurt less, but there was not nearly enough beer for that. Yanking the tarp out of Macey's hand, I rolled about an inch of the tarp around the metal rods before taping them securely in, forming a triangle. I tied the twine to the corners of the large contraption, adding various items for support. With the final bars in had, I kicked the door open before discarding my shoes, "Grab your seat cushions!"

Seeing what I had in mind, Zach when white while Macey tied our shoes into a little bundle ("They're expensive and way to chic to leave here!")

Shoving my homemade hang glider out into the wind, I motioned to Macey to crawl beside me, cushion pressed to her chest. Next came Zach, looking decidedly ill, "Don't worry, we'll be fine!"

His snarky reply was lost in the hum of the wind as we pushed forward, closing our eyes as the hang glider caught the wind and _whooshed _us towards the ground. If my fingers hadn't been in a death grip, I would have had them _all _crossed.

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><p><strong>I lied. Another cliffy. Did you like the <strong>_**hang**_** glider part (cliff hanger;] )? I rather did. **

**Lots of Love, **

**Striker **


	32. One Eyed Jim and Other Rescuers

**Wow. It's four days 'til Christmas. As I sit in front of the fire with some of Great Aunt Lizzey's sugar cookies cut in Halloween shapes (another family tradition), I have decided that my house is haunted. Everyone else is in bed, I can see all of my pets, and yet it STILL sounds like someone's walking around up stairs. CREEPY. I am disturbed…so if I get murdered….. **

**Thanks to my readers and reviewers!**

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><p><strong>Cammie's POV:<strong>

I'm just going to fast-forward a little bit on our trip. After we hang glided out of the plane, things went pretty quickly. Okay, that's like a totally understatement, but…

**Operatives Report**

**Operatives Morgan, McHenry, and Goode**

**After aborting the helicopter escape, Operatives Morgan, McHenry, and Goode (here after referred to as 'The Operatives') managed to hit the ground without breaking any bones (or heels) and took off running. The searchlight from the police helicopter followed The Operatives until they managed to find cover in a grove of trees. Unfortunately, when the term 'grove' of trees is used, it is referring to a Texas grove of trees. And when it comes to trees, things are not always bigger in Texas.**

**The Operatives knew that this was the first place that anyone would logically look for them (this is the area where they'd lost The Operatives and there's really nowhere else to hide) so they could not stay there forever. The Operatives quickly untangled themselves from the hang glider and buried it the best they could in the drought-induced rock hard soil. **

**When it sounded like the helicopter had passed over, The Operatives took off in the opposite direction, running across the barren area. While running, Operative Morgan used the phone/GPS/a lot of other things supplied to her by Operative Sutton to figure out The Operative's exact location. **

**Unfortunately, The Operatives had only been able to travel about seventy miles of their six hundred mile journey. Also unfortunately, Operative Morgan realized that The Operatives had crash-landed in a cattle pasture **_**after **_**Operative McHenry stepped in something cattle related. **

**Cursing, screaming, cursing, and threats ensued. To quote, "I BECAME A VEGETARIAN TO SAVE STUPID COWS! I TAKE IT ALL BACK! I HOPE YOU ALL BECOME FAT, JUICY STEAKS ON SOMEONE'S PLATE! I WILL **_**ENJOY **_**THINKING ABOUT SLAUGHTER HOUSES, DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW MUCH THESE SHOES COST?! I **_HATE_** NATURE!"**

**At this point, Morgan and Goode were forced to drag McHenry away from the rock she had picked up with the intention of killing some innocent bovine. From here, they raced across the pasture towards the sound of cars on a road. **

**After about half a mile, they came to a fairly deserted highway. This is when they met One Eyed Jim, Speedy John, Crazy Carol, Jumpin' Jabiru, and Wild Boar. **

"What the heck is a Jabriu?" Macey demanded irritably as she stared down at her ruined shoes, which were now lying in the ditch along side of the road. We didn't want to offend anyone; these people might be our only way out of…well, Wherever-We-Are, Texas.

Jumpin' Jabiru just smiled, showing of her dimples and several gold teeth, "A large Central and South American stork with a black neck, mainly white plumage, and a large black upturned bill."

Wild Boar ginned, showing off his own interesting dental work, "We're retired zoologist, JJ studied ornithology extensively. I preferred the good ol'e pig myself."

One Eyed Jim barked from the backseat of Speedy John, a 1956 Chevy something-or-other zoopped muscle car. Crazy Carol's massive engine purred submissively.

Zach was looking at me like _I _was the crazy one, I mean, just because I jumped out of a helicopter with just a homemade hang glider doesn't make me crazy, it makes me…interesting. Macey was still too pissed off over her shoes to care about what was going on at the moment.

"…and now we're drag racers with totally rad racing names! Imagine that at our age!"

I had an instant of true genius/insanity. "I have a proposition for you…and cash."

I explained my plan and as they listened, JJ and Wild Boar (whose real names were Janet and Bill Wilds) got theses giant grins on their faces.

"Five hundred and thirty hundred miles in eight hours?" JJ said with a whoop, "Honey, we'll do it in seven! Hop in!"

Wild Boar snapped his fingers, "I got an idea, ladies verses gents. Whoever gets to 'Bama first has to buy the others the biggest steak dinner in the South!"

"Yeah! Me, Carol, and these lovely ladies against you, One Eyed Jim, Speedy John and Cutie Pie over there!" JJ said with a grin.

I agreed, ignoring the panicked look on Zach's face (apparently One Eyed Jim wasn't taking a shinin' to our Golden Spy Boy) and the pissed off one on Macey's face.

"Can I speak to Cammie for a second?" Macey asked, flashing her Political smile and dragging me away without waiting for an answer.

"What's wrong?"

"WHAT do you think you're doing?! These people are certifiable!"

I shrugged, "They seemed nice enough to me."

"They name their cars!"

"People name boats all the time. It's basically the same thing."

"They're like SEVENTY years old! What if they have a heart attack while drag racing?!"

I shrugged again. I got nothing there.

Macey threw up her hands, "YOU are crazy! Didn't your mother ever tell you not to get into cars with strange people!?"

I grinned, "As a matter of fact, no. She told me that when commandeering a car, sometimes it's best not to let the owners know that they're being commandeered. And I always listen to my mother."

Strutting back to the idling cars, I hopped into the shotgun seat next to JJ. Zach was sitting next to Wild Boar in the other car with a very peeved looking One Eyed Jim staring him down with his good eye. Zach looked rightfully terrified.

Macey slammed the car door hard behind me and JJ let out another whoop. Then, she slammed her foot down on the accelerator, pinning me back against the seat and leaving Zach, Wild Boar, Speedy John, and One Eyed Jim in the dust.

The race was on. I was just hoping that Liz and Alex could hang on just a little bit longer.

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><p><strong>Bahaha. That was fun to write. Have you heard about Ally Carter's LEGIT GGHS crossover, Double Crossed due out in January?! I'm so pumped!**

**Review please!**

**Striker**


	33. Reunited & It feels SO Good

**Honestly, my Wifi router isn't working, so I just wanted to let you know that I started this chapter on December 22, 2012. **

**Thanks to my readers! Cuz you've all abandoned me…and there were no reviews!**

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><p><strong>Alex's POV:<strong>

"_WE ARE NEVER EVER EVER GETTING BACK TOGETHER! OH, WE ARE NEVER EVER GETTING BACK TOGETHER!"_

I jerked awake with a gasp and jumped up into a defensive position, swiveling in an attempt to locate the voice. Somewhere behind me came a loud half-asleep groan followed by some indecipherable grumbling, "Hello?"

Turning around, my surroundings became clearer and the last twenty-four hours came crashing back down on me like a wave. I was in the back woods of Alabama with one of Cammie's (probably insane, definitely smart) classmates, a blonde twig of a girl named Liz who had somehow managed to rescue me from some very confused kidnappers.

And at this moment, I was standing on the dried summer grass along side of a river in northern Alabama, listening to Liz have a very strange conversation on the phone…and either my mind is still really sleep scrambled or Liz isn't speaking English. I'm almost seventy-five percent sure that it's the latter.

"They're here!" Liz announced, standing up and stretching.

"Who's where?"

"Cammie, Macey, and Zach are in Alabama. In town as a matter of fact."

She began to gather up the bedrolls we'd slept on last night while I tried (unsuccessfully) to wrap my mind around what exactly was going on, "But I thought that you said that they were still in Dallas," I glanced at my watch, "Seven and a half hours ago…and it takes nearly ten hours to drive between here and there."

Liz stopped her packing to scratch at a bug bite. Honestly, I wouldn't recommend sleeping outside in Alabama. Aside from the mosquitoes, I'm pretty sure I read somewhere that there are alligators in the Southern United States.

But anyway, back to Liz, "-vaguely remember saying that. I was pretty tired…it may be possible that I got something wrong. Unlikely, but possible. We'll talk to them when we get to town."

I was still to tired to continue the conversation, camping was never my idea of a lot of fun, so I stiffly climbed into the passenger side of the Jeep and crossed my fingers that Liz would get us back safely and in one piece.

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><p>Liz and I rolled into town about a quarter past eleven. It would have been closer to eleven if we hadn't stopped to help a <em>Chelydra serpentina<em> _serpentina _(better known as the Common Snapping Turtle) across the highway. Oh, and how could I forget about the flock of renegade _Gallus gallus domesticus_ that we returned to a grateful farmer?

Alabama was a fine place, but I wasn't growing to fond of it. Maybe it was the kidnapping that got me here, the plentiful mosquitoes, the crazy amounts of humidity, the crazy people, the sun that just seems so much hotter than the rest of the world…

But speaking of the humidity and the heat. Liz and I were sitting in the topless Jeep while the sun was beating down on the top of my head. It was so hot that I could see the heat waves rising off the pavement. We were parked in the center of Liz's tiny town, waiting for Cammie (and the rest of them) to show up.

After the forth time Liz ducked down in her seat, I forced myself to ask just what was going on, "Dare I ask what you're doing?"

"Hiding, shh."

"Hiding from what?"

"People."

"What's so special about these people that you're hiding from?"

She glared at me from her position on the rusty floorboards of the Jeep, "Don't talk to me like I'm crazy. Right about now, my mother's probably started a man hunt and she's got more spies in this town than the CIA does in Washington D.C."

"She doesn't know where you are?" I asked.

Liz shook her blonde head, "No, I sorta snuck out yesterday. I didn't think that this whole mission would take so long."

"What are you going to tell her when you go back home?"

"I'll think of something."

"Won't you get in trouble?"

She shrugged (an impressive feat from her position), "Probably. It's fine, don't worry about me."

We sat in silence for another minute. I cleared my throat awkwardly, "Well, thanks for everything you've done for me."

"I didn't do it for you- well I did, but I did it mostly for Cammie. Friends and family, that's where it's at."

I nodded, "I guess."

"I guess?! It's not a question. It's a fact. Scientifically proven fact-" Her voice cut off as she looked up at my face, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

She glanced around and slipped back up into her seat, "I'm sorry, Cammie told me a little bit about your past."

I laughed bitterly. Clearly this sleep depravation was getting to me, "No friends. No family. Just me."

"What about your house keeper? I remember Cammie talking about her."

I set my face to emotionless, "That's a long story. One I don't care to tell."

"Sorry," she said softly. A minute later she spoke again, "Cammie's your friend."

"Acquaintance."

"Friend."

"Acquaintance."

"Friend. She wouldn't get out of bed to answer her phone at five am for just anyone. She cares about you. I mean, if you're whole mission across Europe hadn't been classified, she wouldn't have stopped talking about you all year. And I mean, she still walked around with this secret little grin on her face every single time that someone asked about her winter break."

Wow, who knew such a small person could say so much in one breath. Before I could say anything else, Liz started waiting excitedly, "Cammie! Macey! Zach!"

Cammie, Macey, and Zach were walking fast across the little park in the center of town, all dressed in tattled party wear that looked a lot like what I'd seen them in last.

Cammie looked tired, but she grinned and gave Liz a quick hug, "Lizzey, great to see you. Wish we could stay, but-"

Liz waved away her excuses, "It's fine, I figured as much."

"You can come with us," Macey spoke up.

She shook her head, "Nah, my mother is already going to be mad enough."

There was a shout from across the park and our heads swivled to see a woman and a girl who looked a lot like Liz, "Oh, dear. That's my ride, y'all better go-"

When she turned around, we were gone.

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><p><strong>Review, PLEASE!<strong>

**~Striker **


	34. Bye-Bye 'Bama

**I'm doing another chapter and it's still December 23, 2012. P.S. I just realized that the world didn't end like predicated. LOL. **

**Thanks to my reviewers and readers!**

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><p><strong>Cammie's POV:<strong>

Alex was oddly quiet as the four of us disappeared out of sight as Mrs. Sutton gave Liz a pretty fair chewing out. It might have been sort of entertaining at a different point in time (even her little sister was barely containing her laughter) with Mrs. Sutton waving her arms and yelling about- wait, she was yelling about _my mom._

I paused and causally listened for a second, "-And you left your _Headmistress _sitting in the living room and me with out a clue as to where you'd gone! Do you know how embarrassing that was for me?! And then she explained why she wanted to see you, why she'd been calling. Apparently, Cammie has _run away from home! _Can you imagine that? Her poor mother thought that you were her last hope-"

"Ma, isn't Cammie a little old to be running away from home, especially considering she doesn't live at home anymore-?"

"I will not have any of your back sass, young lady! You are coming with me right now!"

I turned and jogged to catch up with the rest of the group, feeling uneasy. In all of the excitement of the past twenty-four hours, I'd nearly forgotten that Liz had told me my mom was in town. My mother was one arduous spy, and if she was in full on momma-bear-after-her-cub-mode, things could get ugly fast. I was supposed to be getting ready for my training with the CIA that started in a few weeks, and she probably wasn't too happy that I'd sort of skipped out on that.

It's not like it wasn't stuff I'd learned in the seventh grade, but all of the Gallagher Alum had to attend these training sessions with the other recruits so we'd 'fit in.'

I caught up to Zach, I reached out and grabbed his arm, pulling him back so we were walking stride for stride. He took one glance at my face then began scanning the area, "What's wrong?"

"My mom was here."

"Was?"

"Might still be."

"Just what we need."

I nodded, "Don't I know it. I didn't exactly tell her I was leaving or anything."

"Course of action?"

"Get out of here, ASAP."

"Where are we going from here?"

I thought for a minute, "We need to clear Alex's name. Which means we need to track down this Black Devil information dealer down. And prove that Tom Harris is actually a jewel thief."

"Where do you want to start?"

Macey dropped back too, "I hate to point this out, but I just got a very irate text from a very irate Englishwoman standing in Dallas at the airport. And I also got a very irate text from my father who needs me to hang off his arm at some sort of dull political convention where I will be forced to meet the President _again._ And pretend be flattered that he remembers my name. _Macey, like the store, right? _Who shops in Macey's anyways?"

I frowned; I didn't like to make Senators or Bex mad. Mostly Bex, but…

Suddenly, I spotted a very familiar face in the café across the street. And it looked like my mother had spotted me as well. Time to think fast, Chameleon.

"Headmistress spotted, Peacock, move in and distract. Whenever possible, pass message on to Duchess to stay at the airport and I will text our location ASAP. Oh, and check on Bookworm before you go back to Dallas. And I'm _really_ sorry about the dress."

"On it, Chameleon," Macey replied, slipping in Mission mode before nodding at Zach and blowing Alex a kiss (he blushed like a fire engine). She reached out and grasped my hand, pressing something into it before disappearing to cut off my mother. It was a credit card. Thank heavens for Macey McHenry and her unlimited credit.

Alex was looking slightly perplexed as to what was going on, but I didn't have time to explain right now.

Grabbing his arm as well as Zach's, I pulled them towards the edge of town; it was way past time to get out of the South.

We didn't get to far before the headline of one a newspaper blowing down the street caught my attention. I let go of both of my male escorts and stooped down to rescue the sheet of battered paper.

"This might not be the time to catch up on the news," Alex said in a tight voice. I'd noticed that when he got nervous or stressed his British accent became much more Queen Elizabeth and much less Artful Dodger. Indicators like this are good to notice, you never know when they'll come in handy.

Stressed or not, there as no need for Alex to get all uppity on me. I leveled my gaze at me, "Calm down. This newspaper just gave me a very good idea."

Now Zach was taking time out of his incessant scanning to look at me like I needed mental help, "It's a single sheet of a three week old _New York Times. _What good is that going to do us?"

Err. I hate it when he does that, going all super spy and showing off. Well, it was pay back time.

I shoved the newspaper under his nose, "Look."

He skimmed quickly in annoyance at my apparent mental deterioration until he came to the headline that had caught my eye, "_International Gem Show Brings In Largest, Most Expensive Collections To New York City Yet." _

"Where better to find a jewel thief than at an International Gem Show?" I asked, smirking at my two compatriots, "We can fly out of the airport tonight and have Bex meet us in New York."

Still reading the paper, Zach ignored me, but Alex nodded, "It sounds like our best option."

Zach resignedly nodded as well, folding the paper and tucking it into his jacket pocket, "I guess I agree."

I let the 'I guess' go, frowning as I considered another problem (albeit one that could be easily dealt with), "Now the only problem is avoiding my mother at the airport…"

* * *

><p><strong>A Third Person's POV:<strong>

"Mrs. Morgan, how lovely to run into you here!"

Even after a night of hang gliding, stealing helicopters, getting shot at, and losing her favorite pair of shoes, Macey McHenry still managed to look amazing. Everyone always wondered why she carried such a large (and totally chic) designer purse, and this is one of the instances that it had come in very handy. Not only did she carry a pair of high heels that literally went with _everything _and another set of both evening wear and day wear, but she had plenty of makeup items to put her back to her perfect status.

Rachel Morgan smiled, a smile that didn't reach her eyes. Like at all. She scanned the area for her daughter, but she'd slipped away. Just like Cammie would have planned. "It's lovely to see you as well, Macey. What brings you to Alabama?"

Flash a smile, "I just popped in to visit Liz, I'm on my way to Dallas, actually."

"How interesting, I went to see Liz yesterday and she wasn't home."

Another smile, "Yes, I know. That's why I'm heading back to Dallas right now."

They both new Macey was lying, but neither bothered to point it out.

"Would you like to share a cab to the airport?" Macey asked.

Nodding, Rachel Morgan waved at (probably) the only taxi in the entire town, "I would love that, it would give us a nice chance to catch up, don't you think?"

Macey was very cool, but inside she shuttered, just a tiny bit. She heard it before, thought it before, and learned it before; Rachel Morgan was a very formidable spy. And a very protective mother.

* * *

><p><strong>Merry Christmas (and other holidays) to everyone! Did you all have a good day? I know I did, guess what I got! Guess, guess, guess! No guesses? Okay, I guess I will have to tell you because you could probably guess for a year and still not be able to get it. <strong>

**A TYPEWRITE! A real honest-to-goodness TYPEWRITER! It's so freaking awesome I can't take it. AHHH! I love my parents. **

**Happy Birthday Jesus!**

**Love and Peace, **

**Striker**


	35. Newwwwww Yorrrkkkk!

**HeyLo. How's life at the other end of the internet? It's pretty quiet down here (or up depending on where you are), snowy. Eating too much Christmas Cookies, candy, etc. And totally not caring. **

**Thanks to my readers and reviewers!**

* * *

><p><strong>Alex's POV:<strong>

Two and a half hours after we left Liz in Alabama, Cammie, Zach, and I stood outside one of the terminals in JFK International waiting for another Gallagher Girl. Zach and Cammie were skimming over the newest article on the Gem Show, talking in hushed tones (English for once). Every time a swell of people pushed past, their words were pushed at me.

"_Miltonburg Hotel, Times Square- Exclusive- Invitation only- International- Over A Million- Tight security- Have to get the blueprints-"_

I knew that I should have been listening; paying a little more attention to the planning that was going on. This whole mess was because of me after all. I don't know what my problem was…it was like my head was wrapped in cotton and floating way above the rest of my body.

I kept hearing Liz talking about friends and family and the conversation we had in the Jeep just before I left.

Friends.

Family.

Two things that I didn't have very much experience with. My godfather killed my parents. My uncle was murdered when I was fourteen, hurling me into the cold world of espionage. And Jack…I swallowed a lump in my throat, I couldn't even think about that yet.

And friends? How does someone make friends when they can't talk about ninety-nine percent of my entire out-of-school activities? When I _was_ in school at all. There was Sabina Pleasure, but that was something else completely. She was part of my past and things that I didn't want to think about anymore.

And then there was Cammie. Cameron Morgan. I still remember meeting her for the first time….**(AN: From Cameron Morgan: On The Run, Chapter 4: Alex Rider)**

_I got to Liverpool Street in record time. I hate to say it but I'm intrigued…who was with Mrs. Jones that couldn't hear? I hadn't been on a mission for MI6 in a long time. The new Prime Minster thought he saw to it that I was never called again…but he was wrong. I went a several messenger jobs, dropped off some messages and I also went on a short trip to Poland. Other than that, things had pretty quite. I said hi to the receptionist as I headed toward the elevator. I punched the up button and waited impatiently for the elevator._

_As soon as I arrived I started off the elevator. I walked down the long hallway, reminding myself to slow down, don't want MI6 to think I like it here…_

_I opened Blunt's door without knocking, I heard him say to someone, "You can ask him yourself."_

_I was surprised to see two teenaged girls sitting in the chairs facing Alan Blunt. The girls glanced back toward me, their faces showing no emotion. One of the girls was a really pretty black skinned girl; the other wasn't a raving beauty, definitely not a head turner, but her eyes…they held something. Pain, fear? I wasn't sure. The first girl scrutinized me long after the second had turned back to Blunt. The dark skinned girl looked familiar…not like someone I'd met, but like someone who resembled someone else I had met._

_I walked toward the desk, as Blunt spoke, "Aw, Alex, right on time. Let me introduce you to Miss Rebecca Baxter,"_

_The dark skinned girl nodded and said, "Nice to meet you." Her strong London accent didn't surprise me but, Baxter…Any relation to Abe Baxter I wondered._

_"And Cameron Morgan." Blunt introduced the second girl._

_She acknowledged me with a nod, but said nothing._

_Blunt spoke again, "Sit down Alex," I complied and Blunt continued, "This is a very different mission then those that you have been on for us Alex. This is a…" Blunt paused looking at the Morgan girl, "A matter of Miss Morgan's safety."_

_The girl looked at her hands and I spoke, "She needs a body guard?" I addressed Blunt then turned toward the girl, "What are you anyway? Royalty?"_

_She shook her head, "Nope, just an American."_

There had been something…defiance, in her eyes and that had caught my attention. I'd wanted to know more about this girl, even if I had refused to admit it to anyone or even myself at the time.

It was frustrating. My head was clearly not on straight; this whole fiasco was going to be the end of me (possibly literally). When I looked at Cammie, strange feelings were invoked and I'm not sure that I particularly liked them.

A hand slapping me hard on the shoulder saved my mind from anymore of these strenuous thoughts and almost cost Rebecca Baxter a hand. But then again, she was Bex Baxter, I was probably the one in danger of loosing a body part.

"Well, look what the cat dragged in! Mr. Alex Rider," Bex was smiling widely, dressed for the summer, looking both sassy, sexy, and totally spy. Purple tank top that set off her coffee-colored skin, jeans, heels entirely to high (but I know she could still injure me in them), expensive shades, and a Cheshire cat grin.

A little different that the last time I'd seen Bex, she'd been shot and was hiding out in the forests of Belgium.

Cammie was grinning, "I'm so glad you're here."

Bex flipped back her hair and we headed away from the terminal towards the city outside, "I wouldn't miss a mission like this for the world. Sounds like a blast."

"Only you would say that," I muttered good-naturedly.

Bex ignored me as Cammie went on, "First thing we need to do is get the layout of the place and do a walk through."

Bex grinned again, "Two steps ahead of you, Chameleon. Done and done."

"You got the blue prints?" Zach asked at the same time as I asked, "How'd you do a walk through already?"

Bex shrugged, "Blueprints, to easy to bother explaining. Walkthrough, I'll show you. Get a cab."

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><p><strong>Well, can you tell I'm not a fan of Sabina Pleasure? And that this was sort of a filler? And that there are only five more chapters left? Okay, actually four and an epilogue. There are still more twists left my lovies…What does Bex have in mind?! Be so afraid. SO AFRAID. <strong>

**~Over and Out, **

**Striker**


	36. Operation: Back for Black

**SO, I've re-read the whole story so far (and found several million mistakes). And I've got a list of questions and things that happened that WILL be resolved in the coming chapters, so I'm getting pretty excited. As you all should be. Thanks to my readers and reviewers:**

djrocks

Loveydovey3000

An Avid Reader Forever

**You guys make me so happy ;]. Happier than my typewriter….almost.**

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><p><strong>Cammie's POV:<strong>

The four of us piled into one taxi and somehow I ended up squashed between Alex and Zach. Bex had commandeered the front seat next to our driver, an energetic Swede named Otto, with who she and Alex were having a spirited conversation about European politics.

This left me squished way to close to Zach and feeling more claustrophobic than the time that I got trapped in the Op-Training Tunnel under the Gallagher Academy kitchen in the eight grade.

It was a three by three foot square.

With no light. Or fresh air.

And I was stuck in there for five hours before anyone noticed.

It was pretty darn claustrophobic in there. I couldn't even look at the boy with out getting all screwed up inside. Zach. Alex. Past? Present? Future?!

_AHH!_

I couldn't look out the window next to Alex because he was sitting up to talk with Otto and Bex. I couldn't look through Zach's window because that would have been even more awkward. This left me starring at the taillights of a rather large semi (how'd it get into downtown New York City anyways?!) which helpfully blocked every single sight of the Big Apple.

"What's wrong?"

I hated how Zach's voice managed to find my ears even over the din, "Nothing."

"Liar. I can tell when you're upset over something."

"Spy?" I asked/muttered sardonically.

He cocked one of his perfect eyebrows (Ahhh, listen to me!) at me, "It's more than just spy instincts."

WHAT does a person say to that?!

* * *

><p>After almost an hour of fighting traffic in the air conditioner-less taxi, I was tired and hot (and definitely not in a good way). We piled out of the taxi in front of a glass skyscraper right in the heart of Times Square, waving as Otto fought his way back into traffic. Craning my neck back, I couldn't make out the name of the building…but Alex could.<p>

"The Miltonburg? Isn't this where the Gem Show is going to be?"

Bex nodded, leading the way inside, "Yep, and we've got a room here."

"Right in the building?" I asked incredulously. I'd checked this place out online, not only were the rooms top of the line (in every way, price included) it was booked over a year in advance, "How'd you manage that?"

Bex grinned, "See, now that's the fun part. We're just borrowing the room for the weekend. Its real occupants arrive next Monday afternoon."

We grinned at each other as we pushed back the glass doors and stepped into the welcoming chill of the luxurious chrome-and-glass lobby. Skidding past the front desk on the polished marble floor, we headed towards the elevator. Once we had commandeered the elevator at the far end of the bank of elevators in the lobby, I was shocked when Bex pushed the 'Express to Penthouse' button.

"We're in the Penthouse?"

"Oh, yeah. I only live in style these days. No more dorms for me."

When the elevator doors _swished _back, we really were in the lap of luxury. The room was huge, and I could see at least four separate bedrooms. The theme was Old New York, very Art Deco and very New York. The entire front wall was glass with a sweeping view of Times Square far below.

"Wow," Alex muttered, summing up all of out utterly intelligent first impressions.

"Sophie? Charlie?" Bexx called, dropping her luggage at the doorway.

"Who are Sophie and Charlie?" Zach asked.

"The rest of our team for the op," was the reply.

And when the rest of our team appeared out of the back of the penthouse…well, let's just say that only one of them human.

* * *

><p>With a strong oval face framed by curly dark hair, the girl's bright chocolate eyes were open and friendly. She was small and fine-boned and looked about twenty-two. She was dressed in a sharp navy blue Miltonburg Security Uniform, complete with the heavy belt, holster, night stick, and hand cuffs. Very impressive.<p>

But not nearly as impressive as the dog beside her which a _big _German Shepherd. Long, lean, black, and tan, she had on a muzzle (for good reasons?!) and was on a heavy leather leash.

"Rebecca, it's good to see you," the girl's crisp German accent was slightly surprising, but considering the dog…

**Note: To clear up any confusion once and for all, Sophie is the dog and Charlie is the girl. **

Things were starting together for me as Charlie (real name Charlotte) chatted in Germglish (German and English). I think I know how Bex managed to get the blueprints, access, and an initial walkthrough of the premise.

Charlie and Sophie.

I glanced at my watch, it was getting late. Charlie seemed to sense that I was ready to get the Op under way. She smiled and motioned to the back of the penthouse, "Follow me."

We followed her through the spacious hallway to a Macey-Sized closet in the back of one of the bedrooms. Pushing back the door, we stepped into one of the highest tech rooms I'd seen outside of Gallagher.

The blue glow from the windowless closet nearly matched the setting sun outside, I thought to myself as we filed in after Bex, Charlie, and Sophie. Two of the four walls were lined top to bottom with monitors and computers while the third wall (the one to the left) was plastered with a huge series of blueprints.

"Welcome to Base Command, BC for short," Charlie said, closing the door behind us as the dog made her way over to a worn blanket in the corner.

"I'm impressed," Bex said, glancing around the room, "you set this up in record time."

Charlie smiled, "That's my specialty. Setting up BCs and Ops. But shall we get down to it?"

**Operative Report**

**Agent Cameron Morgan **

**Operation: _Back for_ **_**Black **_

**Operatives Involved: **

**-Chameleon **

**-Duchess **

**-Charlie**

**-Sophie **

**-The Brit**

**-Blackthorne (Operative Zachary Goode refuses to give his official CIA issued codename…Note to Self: Find out why this is so.)**

**Part 1:**** Locate one Tom Harris (Once Suspected to Be 'The Black Devil,' Information broker…who is probably actually a jewel thief.)**

**Part 2:**** Kidnap one Tom Harris (Before he steals anything.)**

**Part 3:**** Interrogate one Tom Harris (As to his connection with the real Black Devil, his theft of the ****Pietersen Necklace that got Alex Rider into this mess in the first place, and his relationship with Shelia.)**

**Part 4:**** Coerce one Tom Harris into signing a written confession of his criminal acts, turn himself in, and return the necklace (Not necessarily in that order.) **

**Part 5:**** Locate the 'Black Devil' (To clear Alex Rider's good name)**

**Part 6:**** Capture and turn the 'Black Devil' to proper authorities (as in MI6)**

***During this operation, make sure that no jewels are stolen, information is lost, or any citizens are injured. **

**RECAP: Locate, Kidnap, Interrogate, Coerce, Locate, Capture and Return **

**Operatives involved in Each Part of the Operation:**

**Part 1:**** Sophie, Charlie, and Duchess **

**Part 2:**** Blackthorne, The Brit (to be the bait), and Chameleon **

**Part 3:**** Duchess, Chameleon and Charlie**

**Part 4:**** Duchess **

**Parts 5 & 6:**** All Operatives**

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><p><strong>Well, there you have it! We're get ready for some exciting action in the coming chapters! Review, review, review, my lovies!<strong>

**Love, **

**Striker**


	37. Parts 1 & 2: Locate & Kidnap

**HAPPY 2013! I tried **_**really, really, REALLY, **_**tired to get this up before New Years, I swear I did, but I just couldn't get it done. It's long and complicated and pretty good. So, I hope you can enjoy my hard work!**

**My reviewers **sweetly-secret, Loveydovey3000, a person, **and **An Avid Reader Forever **are so dang fantastic. Lots of love to my readers as well.**

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><p><strong>Alex's POV:<strong>

The Gem Show had opened its doors earlier this afternoon and I was rather jealous that Bex, Charlie, and that dog got to run Part One of the Op. Armed with a picture of Tom, they left the apartment around five in the afternoon. I _really, really, _wanted to wrap my hands around that slime ball Tom Harris' neck and squeeze until all the information I needed popped out of his mouth then I would squeeze just a little more until his slimy little eye balls-

"Hello? Earth to Alex?" Cammie was waving her hand in front of my nose, effectively wiping all murderous visions involving Tom Harris.

"What?"

"I said, 'Do you want food?' It's close to six and I literally can't remember the last time I had _real _food," Cam repeated slowly (like she was talking to a very slowwww child).

"Sure, food sounds good."

She muttered at both Zach and I before scuttling over to the phone. Take out I assume, "I hope you like Italian, because right now one of Benedetto's Fettuccine Alfredo sounds like heaven."

"I actually-"

The words died on my lips at the fierce look that passed over Cammie's face. It made my murderous daydreaming look like butterflies and rainbows, "-love Italian?" I finished lamely.

Zach snickered until the 'Look of Instantaneous Death' was made in his general direction. Then he got quiet, real fast. It made me feel slightly better that I wasn't the only one afraid of Cammie.

Unsurprisingly, Cammie didn't ask us what we wanted to eat. After finishing her fluent Italian (or at least what I thought was Italian) conversation with 'Tonio,' she stalked off towards one of the bedrooms for a shower and a change of clothes with one final instruction:

"Pay the guy when he comes."

I waited until the door closed (slammed) behind Cammie before making any comment, "She does tend to get a little nasty when she's hungry."

Zach laughed, "You can say that again."

There was a slightly uncomfortable silence before I attempted to start a conversation (not an easy feat with Zach Goode. He makes me look talkative. Heck, he would make a mute look talkative.)

"What happened to the arm?" I asked, motioning to long, new-looking scar.

Zach shrugged, "An Aruban drug lord who didn't appreciate my good looks or how I shut down his operation," he paused, thoughtfully, "he was a lot like Cammie when she's sleep deprived."

We laughed some more and I wondered exactly how truthful he was being. Zach had always been the enigma type, but I didn't push any further. Honestly, I didn't care so much.

Just then there was an obnoxiously loud knock at the door and the sound of some guy hollering (isn't that an American term?) like he was standing on a street corner rather than in a high class hotel.

"I'll get that," Zach said, rolling his eyes and heading for the door.

Cammie materialized behind me (after the world's fastest shower) with wet hair and clean clothes, "Aruban drug lord, my derrière."

How she heard _that_ was anyone's guess.

* * *

><p>It was close to midnight by the time Charlie, Sophie and Bex returned from the Gem Show. Continuing with their ruse as Miltonburg Security, Charlie and Sophie had the perfect opportunity to circulate and watch the people while looking for Tom. Bex had dressed up for this part of the assignment; she was one of the swanky partygoers.<p>

"We found him," Charlie said with a grin as an irritable looking Bex kicked off her ridiculously high heels.

"You both owe me, big time," Bex said, pointing right at Cammie and I.

"Why?" Cammie dared to ask.

"I have been harassed by more inebriated old billionaires than I care to remember just to find this psychopath Tom Harris, who by the way is one of the stupidest jewel thieves I've ever had the pleasure of following. A five year old could figure out what he was going to steal. Or try to steal as the case may be. I'm pretty sure even the real security guards could figure out he was casing the joint."

When Bex was mad, her accent got a lot sharper…and honestly, I'd never heard her rant before. It was actually rather impressive.

Cammie, who had changed into a black tank top, jacket, jeans, and high heels (who wears high heels on a kidnaping?!) began to pull her hair up into to a high ponytail, "So, what room is he in?"

"Nine thirty-five," Charlie replied, letting _that _dog off it's leash (scary), "But you'd better hurry. It looks like he was going to try and grab the diamond before the fresh batch of security comes on at two."

"Diamond?" Zach asked as he adjusted the collar of his button down shirt (black also).

"The Hope Diamond," Bex replied, "it's here on loan from the Smithsonian."

"Wow, I'm impressed. Who knew a slug like Tom would have that much guts. Isn't that thing worth several million dollars?" I muttered, feeling out of place as the only one not dressed head to toe in black. As a matter of fact, I was dressed totally normally.

Cammie laughed, "Only if your definition of 'several million dollars' is like three hundred and fifty million dollars."

"Three hundred and fifty _million _dollars?" I asked, astounded, "That's like two hundred and fifteen million pounds!"

"Actually, it's 215,338,200 £ to be exact," Bex supplied helpfully.

"And he's going to try and steal that?!"

"It's a very stupid idea," Charlie supplied (which actually sounded like 'a vedy stoopid ideeea'), "It would be impossible to sell, if you could get past all the extra security as it is." ('It vood be impoossible to sell…').

"I knew he couldn't pull something like that off…is he working alone?"

Charlie shook her head, "Nah, there are a three other dudes in the room with him. But they don't come across as very smart. But they have been easily taken care of."

"Do I want to know how?" I muttered mostly to myself as I prepared to follow Cammie and Zach from the hotel suite.

Charlie has bionic hearing. As I brushed past her, she grinned devilishly, "No, you really don't want to know."

I hadn't spent enough time with Charlie to actually form a judgment on her, but the tone of her voice and her actions sent me a more…ominous vibe. There was just something I didn't trust about that girl.

* * *

><p>"-Bex told me that that they call her Char because it's short for Charlotte and Lie because she lies like a wet rug," Cammie said as we rode down the thirty plus floors to where Tom's room was.<p>

I'd mentioned me feelings on Charlie to Cam and Zach and her reply didn't really suit me, "Then why did Bex draft her to help us?"

"She's the best in the business," Zach supplied as the elevator slowed.

That wasn't very reassuring, but there was no time to ponder, "Places everyone!" Cammie said softly. She and Zach headed down the long hallway, maneuvering into positions in the shadows near Tom's room. I stayed in the alcove near the elevators and pulled out my cell phone.

Dialing the front desk of the hotel, I asked to be connected to Tom's room and waited while the phone rang. On the third ring, a breathless male voice picked up, "Yeah?"

"Can I talk to Tom please?" I asked in my best American accent.

"Yeah."

_Tom's 'friends' are so educated sounding_, "Yeah, Tom here."

"Hello Tom, how are you enjoying the States?" I asked, letting my accent slip back into place.

"Alex?!" He sounded a little shocked.

"Yes, and the Gem Show is spectacular, don't you think?"

"Haha, what- what are you talking about?" Tom asked, now sounding nervous.

I let some anger slip into my voice, "Don't even bother trying to lie to me, Tom. I know where you are and what you're up to."

Nervous laughter, "Don't try and bluff me out, Rider."

"Does room nine-thirty-five of the Miltonburg in Times Square sound familiar?"

There was a long silence before Tom spoke again, "What do you want? I know you don't have the necklace."

"I want to talk to you. Alone."

There was another pause, "Where?"

"Right now in the lobby."

The sound of a muffled conversation reached my ears, "Alright, I'll be right down."

"Alone, Tom. Alone."

"Yeah, yeah, I heard," The phone was slammed down. I grinned and gave the 'all go' signal to Cammie and Zach.

I observed as the moved like two shadows, watching as Tom exited his room and headed towards me at the elevators. I slunk back, losing sight of Tom, Cammie, and Zach. There was a squeaky and the sound of a short scuffle, then the elevator door _dinged _open.

"Rider!" Zach hissed.

I darted from my hiding space and into the elevator as the doors as the silently swished closed. I grinned down at the unconscious and hogtied figure of Tom Harris on the carpeted floor.

Part One: Complete.

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><p><strong>So, I just came up with a <strong>_**freaking**_** amazing…thing…for this story, and may I just say that I am a **_**freaking**_** genius?**

**Thanks and reviews make me update faster. **

**Love, **

**Striker**


	38. Parts 3 & 4: Interrogate & Coerce

**Who are you and how did you convince Agent Striker to update so quickly? **

**Thanks to:**

sweetly-secret

**And all my readers, too!**

* * *

><p><strong>Cammie's POV:<strong>

I smiled, satisfied at our little interrogation room. The closet in one of the other bedrooms was much smaller than our command center with a single bright light bulb, clean but for a single dirty spot, making the plain white walls and the dark carpet look stark and unwelcoming. Duct taped to an uncomfortable plastic chair, Tom Harris sat in the center of the room with his chin on his chest, still unconscious. Charlie sat in the back corner of the closet, almost invisible in the shadows with a laptop.

She would be typing Tom's confession as he spilled it to Bex and I. She had really wanted to be in on the action until Bex reminded her that she wasn't aloud to injure anyone. Then she seemed to be fine with just being our secretary. Not that I'd ever call her that to her face. That chick is scary.

Maybe almost as scary as Bex. Almost.

**Note to Self: Find out how Bex (and apparently Zach) know this Charlie character. **

Bex stood against a wall by the door, picking at her fingernails with a rather long knife, a dagger really. She and I were to be the interrogators while outside of our little interrogation chamber, Zach was making sure Alex didn't storm in here and try to kill Tom. Everyone had his or her own part, nice and clean. (Except for that dog…I wondered where it (she?) was while Charlie was in here. Intimidating thought.

From the center of the room there was a groan, and we immediately jumped into action. I hung back a little bit and let Bex do her work.

"What's your name?" Bex snapped, getting really close to Tom's face.

**Rule One of Interrogation: Bust personal space bubbles.**

Tom opened his eyes blearily, looking more confused than frightened, "Wha- where am I?"

"What. Is. Your. Name?" Bex hissed, getting into Tom's face again.

He replied almost cockily, a little more awake this time, "Who are you?"

Stepping back a little, Bex unsheathed her long knife and let it glint menacingly in the light, "I asked a simple question. 'What is your name?' I'd hate to put this little beauty into action so early in the…interview."

**Rule Two of Interrogation: A little fear-factor can open a person right up.**

Tom clearly wasn't a very gutsy person, "Thomas Sullivan Harris."

"Age?"

"Nineteen."

Bex nodded, walking slowing in a semi-circle around Tom, "Very good…occupation?"

Tom became even more visibly nervous, "Umm. None?"

"Are you lying to me, Thomas…do you mind if I call you Thomas? Or do you prefer Tom?"

"No-no?"

" 'No' what? You're not lying to me?"

Tom shook his head wildly, "I'm not lying to you."

Bex pounced; and in a split second she was basically sitting on Tom with her knife on the flesh of his throat, "I know you're lying Tom. Do you know what I do to liars?"

All of this had been spoken in Bex's patented Icy Calm, but Tom's eyes bulged and he choked violently. Time for me to step in.

**Rule Three of Interrogation: Good-Cop-Bad-Cop is a very effective technique.**

I grabbed at the back of Bex's shirt and hauled her away from Tom, saving him from some of her more dreadful threats, "Hey! Take it easy!"

Bex turned on me, "What's your problem?! I told you to never interrupt me like that!"

I shrugged out of her grasp and bent down to grab a bottle of water I left near the door, "You're going to scare the poor kid to death. Just calm down."

Uncapping the water, I turned to the still choking Tom, "Would you like a drink?"

"Is this a restaurant now?" Bex demanded throwing up her hands. Tom, meanwhile, had nodded and I bent to untape his hands.

"_What _are you doing?!" Bex yelled again. She was really getting into this Bad Cop thing.

"Untaping his hands so he can drink. It's not like he can go anywhere," I motioned to the tape that pretty much laminated Tom to the chair from the chest down.

Bex nodded grudgingly, "True, I suppose. And if he did somehow manage to get away from us, there's no way he'd get out of the building alive."

Tom gulped. We let him drink for a second before Bex started in on him again, "Does the name 'Sheila' mean anything to you?"

Tom got even paler (if that was possible), "Ye-yeah."

"What does it mean?" I asked.

Tom looked at the ground until Bex's boots came into view (or it might have been the .45 tucked right in plain sight), "My sister-in-law's name is Shelia."

"Jerry's wife?" I asked gently.

Tom's head snapped up, "How'd you know that?"

"We also know about your three year old nephew. If you don't give us the information that need…well, it'd be a shame to hurt a child," Bex cut in, playing with the dagger.

**Rule Four of Interrogation: It's playing dirty, but threatening family members is a great way to get what you want. **

"He's barely more than a baby!" Tom gasped, looking at me beseechingly.

I shrugged, looking really down-and-out, "Nothing will happen if you just talk to us Tom. You can walk out the second we have everything we need and you'll never see us again."

While Tom contemplated, Bex began to talk, "So, Shelia is your sister-in-law. How did the two of you get mixed up with the Black Devil?"

Tom flinched, but hung his head and began his story, "My brother Jerry was always…well, an adrenalin junkie. He liked fast cars and extreme sports. And after he met Shelia and promised to 'be careful and settle down,' he liked espionage."

"Espionage?" I asked, encouraging him to continue.

**Rule Five of Interrogation: Once they get started, just let 'em talk.**

"Espionage. Somehow- and I'll swear on a stack of bibles that I really don't know- Jerry got mixed up with some shady people that eventually lead him to-" he shuttered, "Der Schwarz Teufel. The Black Devil. When Shelia found out about the 'work' Jerry was doing, she left him and took Johnny with her. She has a set of twin brothers that live in the States, out West somewhere."

"And what about Jerry?" Bex asked, "Where's he?"

I had a feeling I knew where this was going. Tom looked down and swallowed hard, "Dead. Murdered."

"The Black-" I started.

"Yeah," Tom cut me off savagely, "They killed him after Shelia left. Without knowing it, she'd taken something very important to the Devil."

"What?"

"A microchip with sensitive codes that the Devil was going to sell was embedded in the back of the Pietersen necklace. I'd given Jerry the necklace after I'd stolen it so he could use it to bribe his way out of the Black Devil's crew. Unfortunately, my brother had a better idea. He always had a better idea."

"He was going to blackmail the Black Devil," I summarized.

Tom nodded, "He stole the microchip and put it on the necklace. Shelia knew the necklace was expensive, she always had an idea what I did, and took it when she left."

"I know that you last spoke with Sheila the day you ran into Alex Rider in London, a little under a month ago. Care to explain that?" Bex 'asked.'

"She came back to take care of the…funeral arrangements. I tried to talk to her, but she wouldn't listen. She thinks I work for the Devil, too…which I don't," he hastily added.

"Why did you send Rider after her?" I wanted to know.

"Somehow, The Black Devil's organization doesn't know about Shelia or Jonathan…maybe it's because her hair's a different color every week…but they know about me. And they've been watching, hoping I'd lead them to the microchip. So I used Alex. Family before friends."

"And you've been looking Shelia…how'd you get rid of the Black Devil?" Bex demanded.

"I haven't been looking for Shelia. I figure that she doesn't have the necklace anymore; she can live happily ever after for all I care. And," he looked rather sheepish, "I had something that I needed to do."

"Steal the Hope Diamond," Bex supplied dryly.

"How'd you know that?"

Bex looked down at him, "It was painfully obvious. But it's also not going to happen. And I have one more question."

Tom looked frightened, but nodded.

"Who," Bex asked, leaning closer and closer, "is the Black Devil?"

"The name she usually uses is Der Schwarz Teufel-"

"She?!" I asked, really shocked.

**Rule Six of Interrogation: **_**Try **_**not to show any emotion. (This is not always possible.)**

He nodded, "But her given name is Jessica Parker. She's English by birth. Twenties, pretty, short blonde hair, blue eyes, petite. I swear that's all I know, I've only met her once."

Bex shot me a look, "Very good Tom. Charlie?"

Charlie materialized form the shadows and put a printed, four-page confession…how she printed it was anyone's guess.

"Shall we go for a stroll?" Charlie asked, taking me by the arm.

"Don't leave me!" Tom cried, looking at Bex, "What is she going to do to me? I answered all of your questions!"

"You are gong to sign this confession, return the necklace, then go to jail for stealing it," Bex said calmly, ushering me out of the room.

"Wait-"

The door closed behind me and I grinned. So many of my questions now had answers. Zach appeared in the doorway at the end of the hall, "Well, how's it go?"

I smiled thoughtfully, "Great, we got everything. Now Bex is trying to get him to sign his confession."

He nodded and I turned to Charlie, "Can you go find Alex and tell him what we learned?" She was carrying her laptop, "Let him read a copy of the confession. I need to talk to Zach."

She nodded and silently slipped down the hall and out of sight. When she was out of earshot, Zach approached and cocked his head at me, "What's wrong?"

I glared softly at him, "I'd tell you everything that we talked about in there, but I saw that nice little bug you planted on the light bulb."

He grinned, "Guilty."

"We need to talk," I said, my face serious, "Why are you here?"

"To help you."

"Macey told me that you lied to your superiors. If that's true, you are a much dumber person than I'd originally thought."

"What-"

Now I was annoyed, "Don't play stupid with me, just answer the question. Why. Are. You. Here?"

He sighed, running his hands through his hair, "It's not really because of Rider-"

"I gather that."

"-I…Well- Honestly?"

"A little honesty might be nice."

He looked at his feet and mumbled.

"What?"

"I said, 'I was planning on coming to see you. I missed you.'"

I'm pretty sure my jaw hit the floor. Zachary Goode, showing _emotion_? "Say that again?"

He shrugged, "I missed you. Rider's predicament was just a better reason to see you. And keep you out of trouble."

I was still stuck on the 'I missed you' part, "You _missed me_?" I asked, incredulous.

Then his arms were wrapped around my waist and he was kissing me and I knew he was telling the honest truth. Maybe for the first time in his life.

* * *

><p>All too soon, there was a commotion down the hall and I pulled away from Zach just as Alex appeared around the corner, "I need to talk to Tom!"<p>

"You can't kill him, he'll pay for his crimes _in prison_," I said, moving to intercept him.

"No, didn't you hear who he said the Black Devil was?"

I nodded, "Yes, a…Jessica Parker."

"Don't you recognize the name?!" Alex was nearly yelling now.

Running a million things through my head, there was no particular attachment to the name, "No, should I?"

"Yes," Alex said, exasperatedly, "She was in Oregon. The nurse I met at the cemetery. Mr. Preston Giles."

"What? You never told me her name! Are you positive?"

He nodded, "I'd stake my life on it. It's the same person; Tom described her to a 'T'. That's why she was so talkative, so helpful! I even remember thinking, that 'she certainly had a talent for getting people to spill their guts,' " he slapped his forehead, "How could I be so stupid?!"

Just at that moment, Bex opened the door and stepped out of the interrogation room, signed confession in hand, talking on her cell phone, "-ready to travel. Just put the necklace, leave him at the scene and call the cops. We'll get the microchip. Yep, I'll be waiting."

Taking one look at our face, Bex hung up and held out her hand for the necklace. Numbly I complied as Zach quietly told her that we'd been _this close _to the Black Devil and we let her get away.

Frowning, Bex popped the microchip off the necklace and handed the chip to Zach, "Well, at least we know who we're looking for. On to phase five."

* * *

><p><strong>Wow, that's like the longest chapter in a long time. And it only took me a little over three hours to write!<strong>

**Review, THE END IS NEAR!**

**Lots of Love, **

**S**

**P.S. Zammie? Check. Surprise twist? I BET YOU DIDN'T SEE THAT ONE COMING!**


	39. Rogue Again

**Well, I just want to let you all know that I had two midterms (History and Physics) and a math test…all on the same day literally back to back to back. I've been studying for a solid week. I am so tired I want to sleep for a month. High school freakin' sucks. And this chapter was a lot harder to write than I'd originally anticipated. **

**But I got some awesome readers and reviews this week from:**

djrocks**: Why, you're an awesome reviewer!**

An Avid Reader Forever: **I'm really glad you liked the chapter…and you still never know about Calex, I make no promises. **

sweetly-secret: **YES! Someone was surprised! *****Happy Dance*******

Loveydovey3000: **Don't feel terrible! YOU ARE FANTASTIC! ;]**

**And a special shout out to **a person **who left this little question for me:**

_No, no I didn't. I still can't believe the end is near... I can't wait to read it! And I have a question, its probably a question most people who read this are asking right now, but, I'll still ask it. And maybe you could answer it in an author's note at the beginning of a chapter? It would be appreciated. Are you thinking about doing any more Gallagher girls or Alex Rider fan fictions? Or maybe another crossover? I'm just curios. I really like your writing and, like I said, I'm going to be sad when this is over._

Anyways, this was a great chapter and keep up the good work! :-)

**Am I doing anymore crossover fics…oh, boy, that's a tough one. I don't really know, when an idea strikes, I run with it. As of this moment, no, I don't have any more epic sagas planned out, but that could always change! Just keep an eye on me…the best ideas usually hit me around one am on Sunday nights! **

**Wow, long note there, huh? Ready for the rest of the chapter?**

* * *

><p><strong>Alex's POV:<strong>

I'd seen Cammie scribbling in the thick, ratty, plaid journal she carries around with her since we met in London for the first time. I always sort of wondered about it. That must be the spy in me. But the spy in Cammie made sure that the journal never left her sight.

Until now.

It was just laying there in the corner of our tiny, very shady room on the shady side of town. But back to the journal…Okay, so when I say it was just laying there, technically it was inside of her bag. It had been mostly hidden before I'd accidently tripped over said bag. Did I mention the size of the room? Not a lot of space for pacing.

And now, there it was, 'Cammie's Book of Secrets' just laying there on the floor along with several items of clothing that I didn't want to look to closely at. Casually, I glanced towards the door that remained closed, just as it had been for the last hour.

No one had to know anything, I reasoned as I bent down and plucked the book from the floor.

The front clover was blank save for the initials 'CM' written in Sharpie in the left hand corner. Glancing around one last time, I cracked open the spine of the book to a random page that was dated to the time that we would have been in Warsaw two years ago:

_**Official Report **_

_**Werner Beerdigungen, December 19, 2010**_

_**After the man, here after referred to as The Old Gunman, pointed Operative Morgan into the fireplace, where she stooped for approximately 30 seconds before The Old Gunman pushed/pulled something to the left of the fireplace. The floor of the fireplace rapidly started to sink downward. Operative Morgan attempted to grab a hold of the hearth but the floor dropped at such an unexpected rate, she was not able to. She plummeted for almost a minute, she estimated four floors, before the contraption she was in hit the floor…hard. She was literally bounced from it and landed in a very unflattering position at the feet of one Zachary Goode, hereafter referred to as Operative Goode. While Operative Goode found this to be hilarious, Operative Morgan did not…**_

I thought it was some sort of a diary, but the more I flipped through, the more it came to me that this was more of a report of everything that had been going on in Cammie's life…going back as far as when she was in her sophomore year of high school.

There were pages and pages of painstakingly handwritten surveillance reports on someone named Josh. Past that, I read about when she met Zach, how he and his classmates came to Gallagher, and how she first encountered the Circle. I read her totally objective report on her father's death, noting how the pen seemed to shake a little more here than anywhere else in the book.

There was a page divider that simply read: _**After Graduation: June **_

That's where Cam began to retell the story of this trip; starting from the moment I rang her from Tijuana. Reading through the material, I was again struck by how perceptive Cammie was. She didn't miss a trick.

I flipped to the last two entries, the one from the day before yesterday when we were in New York and then the one from today in London, after our transatlantic hustle.

**Operative Report**

**Location: London, England**

**After leaving one 'Tom Harris' (formally suspected of being the Information Broker 'The Black Devil') in the capable hands of Charlie (Real Name and Affiliation, Unknown) and her ever-faithful mutt Sophie, Operatives Baxter, Goode, Morgan, and Rider evacuated the 'borrowed' hotel room. **

**While Charlie was to take care of Harris (See **_**Operation: Back for Black**_**) the rest of the operatives were relocating to another hotel room in another part of the city. Down south, Operative Sutton had been working on tracking the Black Devil since her identity was discovered. Even though she had been last seen in the US, Sutton was checking out Europe, London in particular, as well. **

**For further details on how Operative Sutton tracked Jessica Parker from Oregon to London, see her report, ****Jessica Parker: Didn't you know I can track anything you do with a credit card no matter where you are? And I know about your other aliases. Oh yeah, I'm that good.**

**Suffice to say, Operative Sutton deduced that Jessica Parker had flown back to London two days previously. After learning this information, the Operatives (minus Sutton) boarded the next flight for Heathrow Airport. **

**Once renting a room on the rather shady end of town (Where MI6 records said that a possible Black Devil hide out was located. For the hacking of the MI6 files, see Operative Baxter's report ****30233.****)**

**After leaving Operative Rider in the room (conflict of interest, and he was **_**not **_**pleased. At all.) the remaining Operatives headed out to follow a lead from Sutton. **

**One of the Devil's American credit cards had been used to purchase gas and groceries at a small station outside one of the toughest neighborhoods in London (also home to a Black Devil hideout). Operative Sutton had hacked into the street cameras (ATMs, security cameras, etc.) along the road and tracked the Devil to a boarding house. **

**The Operatives devised a plan to stakeout the boarding house. **

On the bottom of the page was a scribbled address. I committed it to memory then quickly straightened up the mess I made to get to the journal. Glancing at my watch, I started to wonder when Cam and the rest of the crew would be back just as a key turned in the lock.

All three trudged in, carrying take out food and looking wet and tired, "Well," I asked, "How'd it go?"

"Fine," was my succinct answer from Bex.

We talked for a few more minutes, but I couldn't glean any more information out of them. We sat down to eat the Chinese they'd brought when a thought hit me.

"I'm not very hungry. I think I'll take a shower," I said, standing up.

"Okay," Cammie said, concentrating on keeping her food on the chopsticks, "We're going back out again."

"Can I come?"

All three stopped chewing and glared at me. We'd been over this about five thousand times. "No."

Pretending to look peeved wasn't hard, and stomping off to the bathroom helped the act as well. The 'going-to-take-a-shower-but-then-actually-escape-out-the-window trick is one of the oldest in the book, so I knew I had to act fast. Waiting a minute, I turned on the shower, and then quietly yanked the old window open.

Scampering down the fire escape, I dropped to the street and took of running. It going to be dark soon and I wanted to be set in my position before the sun set. I did feel bad about ditching Cam, I did ask her to help me, but I had to do it. I had to catch the Black Devil.

* * *

><p>I was only outside of the building for fifteen minutes when a petite figure dressed in a rain coat and heels slipped out of the building and headed down the street, bobbing in and out of the light.<p>

I followed out of sight until the fog around was thick and the street deserted. Then I spoke, "You."

It was only one word, but when the hood of the jacket slipped back, the look on Jessica Parker's perfect face told me that she knew exactly who I was. And that she'd been caught.

"So we meet again, Mr. Rider."

"So we do, Miss Parker. Or do you prefer Miss Devil since I'm assuming Jessica Parker isn't really your name?"

She laughed, her perfect white teeth gleaming in the streetlight, "So astute. You can call me what ever you'd like Alex; may I call you Alex?"

We were playing back and forth with out pseudo-pleasantries, flirting with danger if you will. I was crossing my fingers that my backup would show up…but considering that I'd lost them on purpose, the likelihood of that happening anytime soon was nil. And I definitely didn't need her back up arriving. It was looking like this was all coming down to one-on-one.

"-Seems like poetic justice that we're in London, where this all started, don't you think, Alex?" The Devil was slowly circling, working her way closer and closer out of the streetlight's beam and into the London fog.

"It is, isn't it? End this where it started."

She laughed again, and I caught a glint of steel in the palm of her hand: a knife, "The incident with your mate Tom and his slimy brother was rather insignificant actually. If Tom hadn't run into you, you'd have never even heard of my operation."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

She shrugged, "Not really, I suppose. But if I added that I do feel slightly bad about killing you, would _that_ make you feel better?"

It was my turn to laugh, the tension dispersing the chill of the London fog, "Oh, so you're going to kill me. What about the microchip?"

She shrugged, "It's not important anymore. I saw that the Pietersen Necklace was 'mysteriously' returned and that Tom had turned himself in. That means that you've got to him. And you're good, I'll give you that, so that means the microchip is back in its rightful owner's hands."

"You killed for that microchip, and now it doesn't matter?" I asked, incredulously.

Her body was tense, like she was about to pounce, "I'm very good at what I do. I know when it's time to walk away from something."

"The whole world is looking for you. Turn yourself in, make it easier on yourself."

With the laughter still ringing in my ears, the Devil pounced.

In one swift movement, her foot collided with my chest with surprising force, sending me stumbling backwards. Before I had a chance to recover, her fist rammed into the side of my face. My hand scraped hard against the sidewalk as I tried to catch myself. I saw the glint of her knife out of the corner of my eye and I threw myself to the ground, wincing as the knife brushed right over my cheek.

From the ground, I grabbed her right ankle, pulling her off balance. The knife clattered to the ground, but before I could reach out to grab it, her knee caught me upside the head. My head snapped back and she sprung on the knife, holding it out in the light just so I could see. My head was spinning but I wobbly got to my feet in a defensive position.

"Ready to die, Rider?"

The knife was spinning through the air like a bullet and I couldn't help but watch it, time seemed to slow.

I closed my eyes and summoned every morsel of strength hurled myself at Jessica Parker. I felt a rib snap as I hit her, sending us both into the gutter, just out of the circle of light.

Clawing at my face, the Devil's enraged screams sounded more animal than human. She kicked at me and I moved back a fraction of an inch, yanking her with me. She tried to flip me over, but I used the momentum against her and sent her flying up over me and back into the center of the light, her head crashing down on the sidewalk with a sickening _crack_ and she was still.

Sudden pandemonium exploded all around me, blinding lights, screaming sirens, figures pouring out of every building. One particular voice reached me, "Alex! Get down!"

Cammie's shoulder crashed into my stomach, knocking the wind out of me and sending me to the ground. With Cam sitting on my chest, I tried to wheeze out a question, but her hand covers my mouth as another figure materialized out of the shadows. From the size, it looked like Bex and when I struggled to get up, she threw herself down on my legs.

"What-?" I managed to get out.

"Alex, you need to be very quite and very still, okay?" Cam said, leaning in very close to my face, which in itself was very distracting. Must have hit my head harder than I thought.

The shouting all around me wasn't making any sense. From my position half in the light of the streetlamp and half in the shadow of the gutters, I could only catch snippets.

"-THIS IS THE POLICE-"

"FACE DOWN ON THE-"

"MI6!"

"-THROW OUT ALL WEAPONS-"

"-RIDER!"

"MI5!"

Then Cammie and Bex were yelling, adding to the bedlam, "CIA! DON'T SHOOT! CIA!"

Don't shoot? I tried to move, but Cam's elbow came very close to blinding me, "The girl's the one you want! Not Rider! Don't loose the girl!"

There was more muffled shouting as a slim figure pushed through the crowd, "HOLD YOUR FIRE!"

"Mom?" Cammie breathed so softly; I'm surprised I heard it.

"CIA!"

The noise died back as the American woman's agents formed a circle under the streetlight around the Devil, Cam, Bex, and I. Cammie shifted her weight, "Mom, what are you doing-?"

"Zach called me. You four have some heavy explaining to do. I don't care that you caught Die Schwarzer Teufel, you're in massive trouble when we get home, Cameron Anne Morgan. And get off of Alex, he's gone through enough tonight."

Wordlessly, Cammie and Bex stood up and pulled me with them, Zach emerged from the crowd to stand with us. My head was splitting; the Devil fought better than most guys I knew. But she was no match for Cammie

She was still gripping my arm and the flashing lights of the police cars were sending strange shadows across her pretty face. She looked pissed and tired and pleased all at the same time. She looked over and caught me staring as a group of agents picked Jessica Parker up off the sidewalk and whisked her away to one of the waiting black SUVs.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

She nodded, "How 'bout you?"

"I'll be sore tomorrow."

She moved very close, so close her nose was almost touching mine. We stood in silence for a moment but she moved a fraction of an inch closer, I closed my eyes and I thought she was going to kiss me. Instead, her words brushed across my lips, "If you ever, _ever, _ditch me like that again, I will personally kill you in a most unpleasant way. Are we clear?"

I opened my eyes and dared to smile, "Crystal."

* * *

><p><strong>Well, there. The end. Mostly. Look for an epilogue coming soon.<strong>

**Love, S**


	40. Epilogue: Free

**Epilogue**

* * *

><p><strong>Alex's POV:<strong>

I thought I was tired before heading to MI6 headquarters; I clearly had no idea what was ahead of me. I was checked out by a medic and then interrogated for close to twelve hours. My mind was so wacked I could barely tell which was way up.

One of the newbie agents led me up from the depths of the bank on Liverpool Street. I considered mentioning the fact that I'd been here dozens of times since I was fourteen, but I kept my mouth shut until we reached the elevators, "Where are my friends?"

"Who?" the agent asked, his face a perfect mask.

"The CIA agents that came in with me," I replied.

"Ah," the agent nodded briskly, punching the elevator button, "Agent Morgan and the other…children."

This guy was seriously testing my patience, "Agent Morgan, her daughter Cameron, Agent Goode, and Rebecca _Baxter_, yes," I put a little extra emphasis on the Baxter part. Every newbie knows Abe Baxter, Bex's dad.

The elevator door dinged opened and the agent gestured grandly for me to enter, "I believe they left."

"What? They left?"

The agent nodded, not making any move to follow me into the elevator, "Their interrogat- interview, finished up hours ago."

"And they just _left_?"

The door was sliding closed and the agent was looking impatient, "Yes, they left. Oh…but the younger Agent Morgan left this for you."

Just before the door swished closed, a thin envelope floated threw the crack and landed on my feet. My name was written across the front in Cammie's familiar handwriting.

Carefully, I bent and retrieved the envelope and ripped it open. Inside was a single sheet of handwritten paper, much longer than the note I'd left her at Gallagher:

_Alex-_

_I wanted to talk to you face to face before I left, but I have some business to take care of that I'm already behind on. So I guess this letter will have to do. _

_First things first. In case you missed it last night, I was _very_ angry with you. I may have looked calm and sexy-super-agent-ish on the outside, but inside my head I'd slowly and painfully killed you three times. _

_What were you thinking?! Going in without back up like that could have gotten you killed! It was stupid and irresponsible. And going solo like that really worries the people that care about you. Take it from me, I found that out the hard way. I wasn't as lucky as you were, I got caught. _

_Don't forget to think about the risks that you take. _

_One of my wisest teachers, one that I have trusted with my life, once told our class that there are six reasons that anyone does anything. _

_Love. Faith. Greed. Boredom. Fear. Revenge. _

_Six reasons that can be very different and almost the same. I won't expressly tell you which of these reasons were mine, but I think you can guess. I didn't help you just because you helped me. If you had been the obstinate brat that I first met in London when I was just another unwanted assignment I probably would have left you to rot in Tijuana._

_My mom is yelling that we're going to miss our flight, so this is where I sign off. But I do have one more piece of wisdom to bestow upon you. _

_There's more than one path that will lead you home. _

_Love, _

_Cammie_

_P.S. It's okay to call me other than when you're running from every government agency in the world, just so you know. So…CALL. _

_~C.M _

_P.P.S. Don't think that I don't know you read through my Operative Reports. My security system is so advanced that your simple male mind can't wrap itself around it. Go through my stuff again and you will not live to tell about it. Capisce? _

I reread the message four or five times, not really paying attention as I wove my way out of the Royal & General Bank and into the path of the early morning commuters heading off to work. I tucked the note into my pocket and set off at a brisk pace, walking against the flow.

I hiked in the warmth of the early morning sun, the skies about London seemingly brighter than they'd been in a long time. I smiled again at Cam's note.

"_There's more than one path that will lead you home."_

Cammie never missed a trick. She knew how I felt about working for MI6 and she was showing me the way out. The words written between the lines are sometimes the ones that mean the most. _You don't have to work for MI6, you can walk away._

I found myself at the Tower of London, surrounded on all sides by early morning tourists from every walk of life. I looked up the tall stonewalls to the blue sky and if possible, the grin on my face widened.

I let loose with a shout of pure joy, not really caring what people thought or who heard me. I was _free_.

**Fini.**

* * *

><p><strong>There guys, Alex Rider: Rogue is complete. I am so thankful for all my reviewer and readers, you guys keep me going. I hope this story was enjoyable for everyone, I hope I made you laugh at some point; I hope I stayed true to the amazing characters. I hope you'll come back to my profile and read my other stories. <strong>

**But I REALLLLLLLLY hope you liked the end of the story. Not to corny? Or sappy? **

**Again, as I sign off for the last time, I had such a good time writing this and you guys FREAKIN' ROCK. **

**Love Always,**

**Agent Striker**


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